Shipwrecked
by Hestia01
Summary: Agent Scully and AD Skinner take a short ride in a puddle-jumper, or so they think. Me and my crackships, I know, but give it a chance, okay?
1. Chapter 1

SHIPWRECKED

Just off the southern Florida coast

March 21, 2000

11:30am EDT

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this."

"Relax, sir, where's your sense of adventure? You're 52 years old; it's high time you get over your fear of flying. Trust me; I never liked flying, either. Still, this isn't so bad, is it?"

"I'm not afraid of flying, but did we have to go up in this crop-duster?" Skinner leans over and looks out the window briefly before recoiling back again with a shudder. The small plane feels too rickety for his taste; nothing will please him more than to be safely back on the ground.

Scully can't help somewhat enjoying her superior's distress. He had clung to his seat for dear life all through takeoff, and it doesn't look like he's about to let up any time soon. Skipping out on the last day at the retreat to have a little fun was the best idea Mulder ever gave her. She was actually strangely pleased that A.D. Skinner had come along this time to 'baby-sit' them. Whether he likes it or not, he's part of the team. There was a place right on the Florida coast that offered flying lessons for beginners, and now the training wheels had finally come off. She'd already taken Mulder up with her, so now it seemed only polite to extend the invitation to Skinner. She contemplates dipping the plane into a dive just to scare him, but thinks better of it. The last thing she needs is an airsick passenger.

"Isn't it just a beautiful day for this? You have to admit, the view is spectacular," Scully coaxes him to take his eyes off his feet and actually look at where they are. He has to admit that she's right: he'd never seen such cloud formations back home, the way the light played against the ocean, the shadow of their plane…over the ocean…

"Skinner, breathe, just breathe! I'll turn it back around, okay? Looks like you've had enough." While she begins the procedure of adjusting their course, Scully can't help but wonder why exactly Skinner had agreed to come along, since he obviously wasn't having a good time. She looks up from the controls to see that the previously benign cloud formations are now shifting into thunderheads. Storm clouds swirl menacingly around them, and flashes of lightning are seen tearing through the sky.

"Uh, sir? Better hang on. It might get a little bumpy," Scully advises, trying to sound calm. The plane is then jolted roughly up and down, and ends up taking a hard right which flips the plane in a gut-wrenching 360. As Scully struggles to right the plane, she and Skinner are both cursing fluently. "Just hold on; I'll try to find a place to land. Dammit, they didn't cover this in the class!"

"What exactly are you saying, Agent Scully? I thought you said you could fly this thing!" Skinner growls.

"Look, the weather isn't my fault! We just have to do what we can. Keep an eye out for land, alright?"

After over an hour of flying blind, the engine splutters ominously and falls into a sharp decline.


	2. Marooned

**Disclaimer: I didn't put it on the first chapter, but I'm sure it goes without saying that I don't claim any ownership to the X-Files or anything associated with it. I'm just having a little fun. Fanfiction is cheaper than therapy you know!**

**Happy Valentine's Day!**

Skinner finds himself getting dragged back into consciousness. Turning to his left, he sees Agent Scully, still knocked out and sporting a painful-looking bruise on her right temple. He struggles out of his seat belt and reaches out to her. She's breathing, no sign of blood. She moans softly at his touch. He gets her out of her seatbelt and kicks open the door. Dragging her to the hatch, he grabs her purse, there could be something useful in there. Judging by the weight of it, he wouldn't be surprised to find a lifeboat in it!

They'd 'landed' on the beach of an island; after getting blown around so far off course, it's impossible to make a guess where they could be. Slinging Scully over his shoulder, Skinner climbs out of the plane backwards and drops softly onto the sand. He carries her, now cradled in his arms, away from the plane. He lays her down in the shade and pats her hand.

"Come on, Scully, wake up. Snap out of it."

Slowly, she begins stirring, disoriented. Then her eyes fly open in alarm, staring unseeing before her. She sits bolt upright, looking frantically all around her. 

"Scully, it's okay, calm down. You landed the plane as well as you could, neither of us was hurt badly…we're okay. Now take some deep breaths, and don't panic. That's a good girl," Skinner soothes, now sitting beside her and putting an arm around her.

Still reeling from their traumatic crash landing, Scully fights the impulse to go to pieces, and tries to say something sensible. "Where are we, sir?"

"I don't know."

"No idea?"

"We're on an island. Could be anywhere," Skinner sighs defeatedly.

Scully nods, looking up and around, shading her eyes as she views the horizon. There's no sign of land anywhere to be seen. "Well, let's take a look around. We could be in the middle of nowhere, or we could be in Puerto Rico for all we know." Spurred on by her sudden determination, Skinner stands and helps Agent Scully to her feet. "I, uh, thought you'd need this," he explains, holding out her purse. She takes it mechanically, too surprised that he'd saved it for any other reaction. Rummaging through it for a moment unearths a nearly full Evian bottle she'd bought that morning.

"We have to go easy on it, there's no telling when or where we'll find water around here," Skinner suggests after they each take a sip. "And let's avoid going around the parameter of the island until the sun goes a bit farther down, best to stay in the shade during the heat of the day."

"Sounds like you know your stuff on wilderness survival," Scully remarks with a touch of admiration.

"Mainly common sense. How about you? Any background?"

"I've seen every episode of Gilligan's Island, does that count?" She replies. "Blue Lagoon? Swiss Family Robinson?"

"Your only background training comes from watching TV?"

"Not all of it. I was an Army brat—Navy, I should say. I know enough to last a while."

They begin to break a trail inland, keeping a slow and steady pace. Each of them is keeping a sharp eye out, hoping for some sign of civilization, some sign that there are people here, however secluded. As each hour passes, Scully mentally catalogues various plant and animal life they come across, some that she can't readily recognize. Birds, flowering plants, while all quite beautiful gives them no clue as to where they might be. By the time they reach what they suppose is a halfway point, night has fallen. After sundown, the temperature had cooled off noticeably, especially under the canopy.

"We need to find fresh water, with all these trees around, there's bound to be a spring or lagoon nearby," Scully notes, speaking mainly to herself. Barely had the words made their way out of her mouth, than they both hear the faint sound from the rushing downpour of a waterfall. The sound of it alone seems to refresh them and urge them to keep going forward. In a few yards, they finally come upon it: bordered by smooth gray lava stones, an outcropping 2 stories high pours crystal clear water into the foaming lagoon. Flowers of every color and description fringe the pool; rivulets spread out from it, down slopes long ago worn smooth by the endless flow. Tall trees grow thickly around the spring, and the air is full of the various calls of birds and beasts native to this secret Eden.

"Let's camp here tonight," Scully suggests.

"I'll try to get a fire going," offers Skinner, "Maybe we could have a signal fire up there, if there's a way up to the top."

"Good idea. I'll find some fruit," she replies, looking up hopefully at the treetops. "I used to be a pretty good tree-climber when I was a kid."

"Unless I miss my guess, that was 30 years ago. Be careful."

"Yes, Mother," Scully quips, smirking up at her superior. "You be careful doing your stunt, too. I can set a broken leg, but there's not much I'll be able to do if you fall and break your neck."

"I'd better see if I can get a fire started down here, before I try rock-climbing. Do you know anything about how to build a fire?"

Scully looks around, "Well, if we had some flint we'd be off to a good start. I've never started a fire that way, but that's what you always hear, isn't it? Well, I'll leave Project Fire in your capable hands while I find us something to eat. Good luck."

As Skinner gathers dry wood and leaves, Scully circles a stooped papaya tree, searching for an easy way up. She is wracking her brain, trying to remember how she did it when she was a kid. Of course, this isn't anything like what she remembered climbing, no convenient handholds or footholds to be found. The only branches are much higher up where the fruit is. Starting at the very base, she gets a firm grip on the trunk and slowly shimmies her way up. Inch by inch, she pulls with her arms while she pushes and braces with her feet, until finally she reaches the top. Wrapping her arms around the gentle slope of the tree, Scully rests from her climb.

"All right up there?" Skinner calls, still without luck at starting a fire.

"Yeah, just give me a second." She reaches out towards a branch of not-quite-ripe papayas and tugs at it to break it off; it holds fast. Scooting herself a bit higher, in hopes of better leverage, she tries again; this time she feels the stem start to snap. Summoning her strength for one last effort, she pulls towards herself with all her might—it rips off cleanly, sending Scully flying backwards. With a loud shriek she falls into the lagoon and sinks like a stone.

Skinner looks up when he hears her scream, and is horrified when she hits the water and doesn't come back up. Hastily taking off his shoes, he dives in, and less than a minute later, for the second time that day he finds himself dragging Scully's limp body. Both come up panting and heaving, Scully is holding stubbornly onto the fruit that nearly cost her her life. He gently pries it away from her grasp and holds her body against his. She's shaking convulsively, and he's not feeling the greatest either.

Skinner looks her over, searching for injuries, hoping that she hadn't hit bottom. "Dammit, I'm no doctor," he mutters in frustration. He looks at his pile of brushwood with a feeling of deep disgust and inadequacy. Without fire, they could die of exposure. He brushes her cheek while she looks up at him curiously, taken aback by his sudden tenderness.

"Sir…" she breathes, unsure of what to say.

"Stay with me, Agent, that's an order," he barks sternly. At odds with his brusque manner, he takes her hand and gives it a squeeze. "Stay with me," he repeats.

"Yes, sir," she replies. Looking up at the treetops, she cracks a bemused smile. "Well, too bad it isn't raining sleeping bags."

"Are you…all right, Agent Scully?" Skinner asks uncertainly. Clearly he thinks she's cracked.

Shaking her head with a soft chuckle, she answers, "Never mind. Just something Mulder said once about hypothermia. And it looks like he's right." Catching his confused look, she clarifies, "We'll have to…huddle together, for warmth." Trying not to make the situation sound awkward, Scully keeps talking, "We could probably make something like a nest out of some of these leaves."

Looking around him, Skinner nods. There's plenty of stuff around they could use for bedding. His attention is brought back to her when he hears a soft snapping sound. When he turns back to her, she's holding a peeled papaya up to him.

"We should eat first, keep our strength up," Scully advises as she divvies them into equal shares. After they each have a few papayas, they get up and start gathering leaves and palm fronds. In a few minutes, exhausted by their trying day, they cuddle together in their nest. With their shared body heat, they are soon comfortably warm and go straight to sleep, too tired to be embarrassed by their intimate situation.


	3. Day One

Early the next morning, Scully awakens; with an internal warmth that has nothing to do with the tropical climate, she looks up at her sleeping boss. "Holding me…" the half-formed thought drifts lazily through her mind, causing a sharp pang. She lays her head back against him and closes her eyes again with a soft sigh. It had been so long since anyone had held her while she slept, it touches her lonely heart. Knowing full well that the illusion would vanish as soon as Skinner wakes up—from then on out it would be about survival and rescue, as it should be—she lets herself enjoy this for now. Mentally hitting the 'snooze' button, she drifts back to sleep for a while longer, as Skinner begins awakening. Cautiously, he runs his fingers through her hair, laying his arm across her back. Until now, he had been content to look at her from a safe distance. Despite their repeated denials, he remains certain that she and Agent Mulder are romantically involved. Whatever they wanted to call it doesn't matter; he didn't want to get in the middle of that. He also knows all too well that if he did somehow pursue a relationship with Scully, there are those that would use it against them. Use her as ransom or bait, or vice versa, he imagines with a shudder. He couldn't endanger her by making his feelings known. It was dangerous enough for him, the wrong people might already suspect that despite his hard-assed exterior he genuinely cared about both her and Mulder, and was on their side. Skinner watches the woman in his arms, glad of the opportunity to be this close to her. He looks down at her with a bittersweet smile, idly wishing that this was real.

A few minutes pass, and Skinner figures they should be getting up to start the day. He looks at the woman sleeping next to him, this time with a different motive. Carefully, so as not to disturb her, he slips out of their nest. He finds her purse nearby and sifts through it until he finds her cell phone. Placing it close to her hand, he sneaks off behind a tree about a foot away and imitates the ringer.

"Drrrrrrring!" he trills.

Scully snaps up, flips the phone open and mumbles groggily, "H-hello?"

"Why the hell aren't you here, yet, Agent? The meeting started an hour ago!"

"S-sorry, sir, I'm on my way, I'm…" she trails off, as she wakes up more fully, looking around, then down at the useless phone in her hand. She shoots Skinner a look that she normally reserves for Mulder, as he cracks up. The sound of him laughing is enough to get a smile out of her. She snaps the phone shut, stands, and brushes herself off. "Cute, sir, very funny."

"Sorry, Scully, I couldn't resist."

Without warning, she suddenly starts peeling off layers. They'd slept late in the day and it's already 90 degrees in the shade. Skinner watches, unsure how to react to her impromptu strip-tease, while she seems as though it's perfectly natural. Following her lead, as though she'd given him permission, he starts casting off any extra clothing.

"And to anyone else, this would be a strange start to the day," Scully quips ironically, acknowledging the awkwardness of the situation. "Where's my purse? My eyes are killing me." Skinner hands it to her as she stumbles groggily to the lagoon for a morning dip. When she comes back, although she seems brighter and more alert, he's curious to see her feeling her way back, as though she can't see.

"You all right, Scully?"

"I had to pitch my contacts, I packed my glasses in my purse," she explains as she digs through her bag. "Here they are," she sighs in relief, slipping them on.

Skinner studies her, trying to be subtly casual, "I've never seen you wear glasses before."

"They're old. I hardly ever wear them, usually just for nighttime."

"They suit you."

Scully pauses, his open compliment taking her by surprise. "Thanks, I try. Gotta look pretty for the boss, you know." _God, I sound like Mulder_, she inwardly groans, _I've been hanging around him too long._ She sees Skinner look at her as though he's thinking the same thing. "All right, all right, he's rubbed off on me. You don't have to stare like it's something that strange!"

Skinner shakes his head, "It's not that, I'm just thinking…we could use our glasses to start a fire. It's a bright day; we have plenty of dry wood and grass. If we go back out to the beach and get more direct light, it should work."

"I thought you said we should stay in the shade. I mean, neither of us is exactly accustomed to being out in the light of day."

"We are a pasty bunch," he agrees. "I don't think our Russian or Irish ancestors expected us to end up in the subtropics. What are you doing now?"

Scully is kneeling down on the ground, fiddling with a few banana leaves from their nest from the previous night, twisting them together. "I am making a hat. It's not meant to be a fashion statement, just a preventative measure against sunstroke." Ripping off some fabric from her skirt, she ties it onto her head. Skinner picks a red hibiscus flower and tucks it into the band with a grin. "Well, I'd like to see you do any better," she huffs defensively.

"No, you look…you look beautiful." It sounds as though the words came out of his mouth of their own accord. He looks as surprised as she does. "I…I, uh…" he stammers ineloquently. "It's fine, Agent Scully," he gruffly mutters, pushing his way through the trail they blazed yesterday.

As they make their way out to the beach, Skinner squints into the sun. Scully smirks at him in an "I told you so" way. They each drop their load of dead wood and grass and separated them into piles according to weight. Arranging a ring of stones around the grass and leaves, Skinner removes his glasses and starts trying to catch the sunlight. In a few minutes, they both see a wisp of smoke and a few glowing embers. Scully blows gently and adds some more grass as flames start to grow. Both of them laugh with excitement, piling on more wood.

"We made fire!" Skinner exclaims, "Scully, look, we have fire! We can survive!"

"And hopefully get out of here," she adds, looking back in at the island, the center of which is the mountain of a seemingly dead volcano. Higher ground is evident below its peak, showing where they'd camped the night before, giving the island a tiered look. She points at this structure, suggesting, "Now we should get a fire going higher up, like we talked about last night. Possibly use green wood and fresh leaves rather than this dead dry stuff. People would be more likely to see smoke from a distance."

"Good idea. Which episode did you see that one on, 'Mary Ann'?"

"Laugh it up, 'Skipper', you know I'm right." She picks up a burning stick of wood and heads back inland. Skinner does likewise and follows her closely.

Since they're using the same trail, it doesn't take them nearly as long to reach their campsite as it did yesterday. Skinner clears some ground for the fire while they figure out how to climb the rock face. The precipice is several yards in diameter, and live greenery is evident a few levels up, probably helped by the excellent water supply and ample sunlight. "Now, what it comes down to is, are you better at this than climbing trees?" Skinner asks, shouting over the sound of the waterfall.

Scowling from his light jab, Scully doesn't answer. Instead, she walks around the area, and without further comment, pulls herself up onto a ledge. Unencumbered by her heavy work clothes, she moves with surprising agility, now up onto the next level, leaving her superior dumbfounded at the ease with which she's gotten up. She reaches down to him and he pulls himself up with her help.

"Time to get out from behind that desk job." 

"Yeah," he pants, "I think you're right. You field agents have all the fun."

Struggling up the next level and helping him along, she smiles, "Oh, what Mulder and I wouldn't give to have you down in the basement with us sometime."

"I don't know if I'm up for that. Chasing after psychopaths and UFOs, that kind of thing is for the young." She suppresses a laugh at his remark, bringing a smile to his face. Together, they make short work of tackling the edifice, and are now on a plain thick with green foliage. "This looks like what we're looking for, this should smolder for a while."

"Yeah, now one of us just has to go down and get the fire to light this up," Scully remarks, looking over the edge. Meanwhile, Skinner is gathering up bunches of leaves into a big pile.

"Why don't you go down? I don't think I could climb back up one-handed."

"Sounds good. I'll be right back."

It takes her a bit longer getting back with the fire, but she makes it. She throws the branch down into the heap of leaves, soon gray clouds of smoke start rising up from it, reaching up into the sky.

"How's that for team-building exercise?" Scully quips, sharing a high five with her boss. Satisfied with their work, and tired out from the workout, they sit down and watch their smoke signal for a several minutes. Both of them are breathing heavily from the effort of getting up there, and they soon slowly acquire very relaxed smiles.

"You know, this stuff smells familiar…" Skinner muses, as Scully bursts into giggles. "What's so funny?"

"I…don't…know…" she gasps, falling on the ground in hysterics. "Say, Skin-man…sir…you know wh—what I think?" Pointing at the smoldering heap and mouthing wordlessly for a moment amid demented laughter, she manages to say, "I think that's…we're burning a _whole_ smoking pile of…Say, have you ever _really_ listened to Pink Floyd?" She blinks up at him slowly with an idiotic grin on her face. "Mulder's, like, got all their records and thinks they're _so_ the best. I didn't at first but I can, like, _totally_ see what he means."

By now, Skinner is trying hard not to be as high as his companion. "Man, now she's a stoned Valley girl. That's just wrong…" He pulls her to her feet and she slouches into his body. "First time?" He feels her nod. "Okay, okay, Scully? Listen up."

"Yes, Mister Skin-man, dude sir?"

"Look, we…" he trails off, getting the giggles himself, "we gotta get down from here." 

Scully groans, "Oh, God, am I stoned??"

"You're baked," he confirms and they both laugh.

"I like you, I'm glad we're friends," she sighs. "I mean you're…you're not one of _them_, are you? You wouldn't give us to _them_, would you?"

"No way," he answers, sitting back down with her by their fire.

Scully stares up at the sky and starts singing…badly, "How I wish…how I wish you were here. We're just two lost souls swimmin' in a fish bowl…year after year….I wish Mulder was here." She blinks, shaking her drug-addled head, looking around her. "Say, Skin-man. We…we need to get out of this. It's like the freakin' poppy field in _Wizard of Oz_ for crying out loud." They both laugh at this and stand back up. "Just follow me, I can do this. Whoa…I don't know why people do this on purpose, my brain feels all fuzzy."

"Careful, Scully, the rocks look kinda swimmy."

"Yeah, yeah, just…slow and steady, right? Here we go."

As they get lower and lower, the air gradually clears, shaking off the worst of their stupor.

"Man, whoever flies into that's gonna be wasted," Skinner says. "Birds, too." And they laugh uproariously at that thought.

As their heads clear they make a silent agreement never to mention this again. Scully scopes out the area for more fruit trees and soon returns with two large breadfruits. Dumping them into the fire they left going at the bottom of the rock wall, they both go to the lagoon to wash up.

"I wonder how long it'll be before someone finds us?" Scully asks.

"I wonder if they're even looking for us. That was a pretty bad storm we flew into. They might have written us off as dead."

"Not Mulder. He'll try to find us," Scully believes firmly.


	4. Plans and Projects

"You know, psychedelic smoke-signals notwithstanding, we should think about building a shelter. We don't know when the next storm will blow in and I'd like to have a roof over our heads when it does."

She fights the urge to giggle, but still grins at him like a Cheshire cat. "I can't help it."

Skinner shakes his head as he turns their breadfruits in the coals. "Just get it out of your system. Everyone reacts to it a little differently." Sitting back down next to her, he studies her face, "You've got a beautiful smile," he says, tracing her cheek.

_Beautiful…that's the second time today he's called me that. _Scully thinks, suddenly shy. She pulls away awkwardly and stands up, not sure what to do. "What exactly do you have in mind? For—for the shelter, I mean?"

"Well, we have plenty of materials around; I think we can do better than a simple lean-to."

Scully looks around, and not far from where they are she spots several tall twisted trees growing closely together. Looking down at him pointedly, she looks back at the trees.

"Scully, spell it out. I'm not Mulder, I can't read your mind," Skinner grumbles, frustrated at his lack of suavity that so obviously upset her moments ago.

"I told you I've read _Swiss Family Robinson_…" she hints.

"And…?"

"Sir, what about a tree-house?"

With a bark of laugher, he stands up as well, "A tree-house? What are you, 12?"

"I was only thinking about predators. If we built one off the ground, we'd be less easy prey for the island's original inhabitants."

He follows her line of vision, turns to share a glance with her before they both look out together at the cluster of trees, this time envisioning how a house would look perched amongst them.

Scully turns to him, "Do you think it could be done?"

He looks down at her. Without her 3 inch heels, she looks even shorter than usual, and somehow this strikes him as endearing. He tries to imagine what he must look like to her, towering nearly a foot and a half above her. Resisting the urge to touch her again, he merely nods thoughtfully.

"We'd have to build supports into the floor, build the walls separately then lash them together at the corners…it could work."

"Sir? Is something wrong? A minute ago you…were looking at me kind of funny," Scully remarks curiously.

"Sorry, it's nothing. I just…" he finds his hand drifting towards her face again, she closes her eyes in anticipation of his touch…and he stops himself.

"Sir? Are you all right?"

Skinner returns to the fire to avoid looking at her, removing their breadfruits from the coals and smashing one open. He hands it to Scully with downcast eyes, wishing it was as easy to ignore his attraction to her here as it was back home.

Blowing on a piece to cool it, Scully watches him carefully, still not satisfied. "Sir…it's normal, don't worry about it. I just…look, we, I…"

"I'm sorry," Skinner mutters, slowly bringing his eyes to meet hers, "but I want you to know it's not just…I mean, I really…I've always…" his nerve fails him in the end and he looks down again with a defeated sigh.

"Oh…" she sighs, blushing as she fills in what he didn't dare to say. She stares at him agape, half of her wanting to reach out to him and half wanting to run as far and as fast as she could. Instead she sits frozen on the spot. "Oh, sir…I--"

"Don't. Just…don't say anything. I shouldn't have. But I'd rather that than have you think I'm just horning after you like some dumb animal in heat. I've…known you a long time. Maybe not as well as some, but well enough. I just…I think you're magnificent. Coming through so much hardship, so much adversity, and you're still standing. Still fighting the good fight. I…admire you, in every possible way."

Scully listens to his touching soliloquy, her hand over her mouth and tears running down her face. She finds herself scooting closer to him despite her quaking nerves. While she can't really return his feelings—how she's underestimated him!—she's greatly touched by his brave outpouring of emotions. Remembering how safe and comfortable she'd felt in his arms, part of her longs for him to hold her again. It's been so long since anyone's made any kind of offer towards her. Even her last real date is now a distant memory. That he would feel that way for her…it definitely got her attention. If only liking him would be enough, but after what he'd just said, it isn't to be expected. So Scully does as he asked, and doesn't say anything, just sits with him as they both struggle to restrain their impulses.

Scully pops a piece of cooled fruit into her mouth, and swallows without tasting; this morning had definitely been an eye-opener. "I meant what I said earlier, despite all evidence to the contrary I consider you a friend. Someone I trust, and that's a pretty short list of people by now, sir, I hope you appreciate that. In a way, I'm glad you're here. I just…"

Skinner raises his hand in a 'halt' gesture, "It's all right, Scully. I shouldn't have just sprung this on you out of the blue. I'm glad I'm here with you. And I do appreciate…what you just said. It means a lot, all things considered. I never made myself very likeable to you and Agent Mulder, so…thanks. I had to, understand? It was for your own good. I didn't want you to trust me, because then you'd start confiding in me and that would just get us all in trouble."

"I understand. It hasn't been easy for any of us, has it? I used to think that you were in control, more so than you were. But you were just as much at risk as me and Mulder, weren't you? So I appreciate all you've done…like a few months ago, when Mulder was lost at sea."

Skinner smiles, "I remember how grateful you were back then." Scully ducks her head down to hide her face as they both remember the time she kissed him in the elevator. They finish their meal in silence, occasionally catching each other's gaze. Skinner then stands up and starts heading deeper into the island jungle, Scully following close behind as they begin gathering large fallen branches to build their house. Suddenly, she stops short, running back.

"Wait for me, just hang on! If we're going to start wandering around, we'd better get our clothes." She runs back the way they came and comes back with her arms full of their belongings, her purse hanging from her shoulder, as well as a burning stick that's all that's left of their campfire. "We'll want these once nightfall hits, when it cools off."

"Good thinking. They could've gotten lost for good in this place."

"Yeah, the climate's so humid it would make decomposition a lot faster."

They both stop to tie their clothes into bundles for easy carrying, and continue on. They reach the grouping of trees and lay their wood in a pile.

"Now we just need something to lash these together. Vine or something. Unless you have something in your bag," Skinner remarks.

"Nothing that will help now, but you never know. Thanks for saving it from the plane for me."

"Not a problem. My wife used to have a conniption fit if she couldn't find her purse." Both of them pause at the mention of his ex-wife, then continue sorting their building materials.

"So, how long do you think this will take? A few days? A month?"

"Hopefully not as long as a month. My guess is a day or two for starters, depending on how fancy we want it. I'll start making a ladder, we'll need that before anything else."

"Good thinking. And there's plenty of vine, bark and fibrous shoots around here, they should be strong enough to hold the frames together. We should soak some in water to make them more pliable."

Skinner stares at her in amazement, "Where did you get that idea?"

Taking his reaction all wrong, Scully frowns in embarrassment, "I'm sorry, it was a silly idea."

"No, no, not at all. Just…how did you know that? You said you had no basic survival training."

"My brothers were in Boy Scouts. I got to go to one of their camping trips once when I was 10. My father pulled the strings to get me in; we both agreed that they had more useful things to learn than what they gave us in Girl Scouts." They work quietly for a while; after about an hour, Scully looks up and hesitantly asks, "Sir? Uh, last night…was that weird for you? I mean…with…you know."

"Weird? No," he answers abruptly.

"I just thought…with what you kind of said earlier…" she blushes deeper with every word. "And that I suggested it!"

Skinner looks up now as well, watching her fidget nervously. "Was it weird for you?"

She shakes her head, "I mean, it wasn't that we just decided to cuddle, we could've gotten pneumonia or something if we couldn't keep warm. It's just…you held me." Unconsciously, she brings her arms up around her shoulders. "I'm sorry, it's not the same thing, but…it was nice. Just ask Mulder next time we see him, he can tell you what a sucker I am for that kind of thing. He thinks I didn't get hugged enough when I was a kid." Scully exhales sharply, running her hands through her hair, "We can't. We just can't. We've been stranded for less than 24 hours."

"Is there some kind of timeline you had in mind, Agent Scully?" Skinner asks rather coldly. "I'm not forcing the issue; I'm not saying we _have_ to do anything about…_this_. But here's a wacky idea: while we're here, alone, try not to over-think things. The fact that I told you my feelings while we're stranded on an island doesn't mean I suddenly expect things to change between us. That only happens in cheesy movies, anyway! I will respect your wishes, whatever they may be. If you…enjoyed last night in any way, I'd be more than willing to repeat the gesture." He reaches out to her and she flinches back apprehensively. "Scully…don't be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not that kind of guy. I'm your friend, and I love you. I love you, Dana."

Scully's eyes fly open, staring at him, her mouth dropping open. At this point she'd be willing to give anything to get him to stop talking. She can see how much this is costing him, but still it's all too sudden and confusing for her to make sense of right now. '_He had to bring the first name up _now_??_' She bends back down over her branches that she's tying together into a wall. She wraps the moistened vine around each end before making a knot, then on to the next one. All the while she's shivering like a Chihuahua, not even sure how or if she should respond to this. Wrap, loop, knot; it's all she's focusing her mind on right now. After doing this to about twenty branches, she repeats it on the bottom half. Cautiously, she looks up at him and sees that he's just as embarrassed as she is, probably more. He loves her, he'd said it to her directly. And what did she say to him? That all she wanted was to be held.

Luckily, there's still plenty of work to do to keep their minds occupied. In a few trips, they get the floor laid out in portions among the three trees, and tie them securely to supports underneath.

"You know, this is going a lot faster than I thought," Scully remarks.

"We got the floor done, we still need walls and a roof. But yeah, it is going fast. I wonder what they're doing back home."

"I wonder who's holding the place together," Scully poses.

Skinner scoffs, "You think it'll all go to pieces without us?"

"I bet Mulder will," she answers mildly. "I don't know the last time that I've gone this long without at least talking to him. I bet he's rounding up a search party as we speak" Sitting back on her heels with a sigh, she looks up at the sky, sees their smoke signal still smoldering away. "I wonder how long it'll take to get rescued."

"Well, we have the fire on the beach, and the smoke signal pretty high up. It's bound to attract someone's attention. Trust our luck to find a tropical island that hasn't been turned into a tourist trap."

"We're lucky to be alive, you realize that," Scully points out. "I could've gotten us both killed."

Skinner sees the shadow of guilt cross over Scully's face as she contemplates their near miss. "Look, you did the best you could. It's not your fault we're stranded here. If it had been me, we would've been dead. We would've gone down a lot sooner than we did. But you hung on, you kept us up until we spotted land. So don't blame yourself for this."

"It's my fault I dragged you along. You don't even like flying in those things. Neither do I, to be honest." She looks over at him, waiting for him to give her this share of the blame at least.

Instead, he walks around the perimeter of the floor, testing for weak spots. Looking up to the center of the "room", he thinks out loud. "Once we get the walls up, it would make sense to tie them together at the ceiling, don't you think? Think that's how they did it in the book?"

"I don't remember, probably," she answers halfheartedly, getting up to go down the ladder. She comes back a few minutes later, tucking a used moist towelette back into its wrapper.

"What else do you have in there?" Skinner inquires.

With a rather proud grin, she dumps out the contents of her purse. Skinner boggles: he's seen the size of some women's purses, but he never would have imagined…along with her cell phone and water bottle, he sees an umbrella, a flashlight, a sewing kit, bug spray/sun block, her gun, and miniature toiletries bag that had been their 'free gift' at the conference. "Do you have a hat stand and a lamp in there, too?" he teases, staring at the veritable treasure trove before him.

"Well, I was planning ahead. I figured we'd sneak some time on the beach, so I threw in the sunscreen. I was wondering where my gun went, so I'm glad that turned up. When you're on the road and on the run as much as Mulder and I are, you learn to keep a few useful things on hand. There's some first aid stuff in there, too. Not much, but what can you do?"

"Thank God for your OCD."

"I don't have OCD, I just plan ahead," Scully retorts, standing and crossing her arms. "We have about 30 bullets; I'd rather not use them too freely, not knowing how long we're going to be on 'vacation'. Same goes for the, uh, beauty supplies."

Skinner looks up at her, nonplussed, "Afraid I'll use up your lipliner, Agent Scully?"

"No, it really isn't your color, but the soap and the razor…need I go on?"

"You've seen the first Batman movie, this could get ugly."

She squats back down next to him, plucking the toiletries bag from his hand. "We'll just have to do without. Besides, do you think our Cro-Magnon forebears had Herbal Essences at their disposal? Maybe we can formulate something from the plant life here."

"Like what we made our smoke signal from?" Skinner hints.

"Well, at least we won't get glaucoma," Scully reminds him. "But I was thinking there's some kind of root that produces a kind of soap-like compound. We'll just have to do some tests, see what works."

"Any more ideas about the house?"

"Just that we should get cracking if we want a roof over our heads before nightfall. I say we focus on the walls, each of us take two, and then cover it with palm branches until we can rig up something a little sturdier."

"Yes, ma'am," Skinner answers, standing up. Scully gives him a hand and a short pull. He stumbles a little upon standing and falls into her, and for a moment she's in his arms again! They freeze in this position for a few seconds before he catches his balance; both of them refusing to acknowledge the physical contact. Scully is the first to go down the ladder and resume the construction of their shelter. Just as before, her eyes are glued to her work, though occasionally a blush rises into her cheeks as she contemplates her fellow castaway.

Taking his cue from her that they weren't to speak of it, Skinner works in silence as well, with his eyes on his wall if not his mind. _Something's getting to her,_ he thinks, _if she was completely uninterested then she wouldn't be acting this way. She feels something, that much is obvious. She likes to be held, to be close…I can see that I'm not her first choice but…I won't make an issue of it, that would just embarrass us both. I'll let her make the next move. If there is a next move. She's just too repressed. Maybe it's a defense technique. If she doesn't allow herself to get close to anyone, there's no chance of being hurt. Sounds like something she'd come up with anyway, I think she's Catholic. Suffering as a virtue, hmph. Saint Scully, the Queen of Denial. There's bound to be more to her than that, she's too young to have her shields up so much. I can hardly blame her, though, in our line of work it's considered healthy to be on our guard. I want to take care of her, to make her feel safe, to let her know she's safe…_

As though sensing her companion's thoughts, Scully looks up at the same time that he does, their eyes lock for a moment and she unconsciously smiles before putting her "game face" back on. Soon the sun is high, piercing through the canopy and she is once again glad she's wearing a sun hat. She looks at the work she has done with a sigh, it's taken so long already and their shelter is barely started. It's discouraging, making their precarious situation hit home.

"I don't suppose you have a watch on," Skinner asks, a desperate attempt to break the awkward silence.

"No, which is weird because I normally do, but I must've just forgotten to put it on before we left yesterday."

"Oh well. I don't suppose it really matters here, anyway."

Scully nods noncommittally, then suddenly drops what she's doing. "I need a break, this is getting old really fast. I'm going to look around."

Skinner leaps to his feet as well, "I'll come with you…unless you'd rather be alone," he offers. Realizing too late he probably just came off as over-eager to the point of forcing himself on her, he backs off and drops eye-contact.

"You know, sir, I had no idea…" she trails off. "I mean, I didn't even think you liked me. We've been thorns in each other's sides for a while now, I would've thought that I'd be the last person you'd want to get stuck with like this."

Smiling to himself as he works on his wall, Skinner assures her, "Well, I can't say it's been the best vacation ever, but I can't complain about the company."


	5. Shelter Me

**I hope you're liking the story so far, please leave a review if you can!**

She studies him curiously, fully contemplating his recent outburst of affection. There's truth to the old cliché response of 'I'm flattered'. Something urges her to get to know him, to learn some personal details about this man. "What…kind of music do you listen to?"

"Why, do you have a CD player in there, too?"

Scully shakes her head mildly, "No, just wondering."

"Oh, a lot of it's probably way before your time."

"Try me. It's not like I listen to what's currently popular."

Skinner leans against a tree and adjusts his slipping glasses, Scully unconsciously mimics him. "I like mostly jazz, it's calming after a day at the office."

"Sounds good," she agrees. "I like some jazz, I can listen to just about anything really. I like Strauss waltzes when I need to unwind. I love the strings." She smiles thoughtfully, as though hearing music in her mind.

Her unguarded, relaxed demeanor strikes Skinner as irresistible, and it takes all of his self-control not to make unwelcome overtures. To avoid falling prey to temptation, he goes back to working on his wall while she takes a stroll around the area. _What's the matter with you?_ He demands of himself. _What am I, a teenager? I've always been able to pull it together before; she's going to think I'm out of my mind! We've just never been isolated together for this long. How are we going to be able to face each other at work after this? I just had to go and blurt out that I love her, now she can barely look me in the eye. What if we're stuck together for a long time? That would be awkward, we have to at least maintain a professional relationship if we're going to survive._

Scully walks idly for a few minutes, trying to clear her mind. Now that Skinner had admitted his feelings, it became plain as day, and she wonders how she could have missed it before. _Or is he just more obvious about it after telling me? I hope he can control himself; I don't want to hurt his feelings but if he crosses the line he'll know about it. He loves me. He_ loves _me_, she thinks with a heavy sigh. _It's been so long since anyone's told me that, not counting Mulder after the Bermuda Triangle fiasco. He had enough painkillers pumping through his system to make him think he loves anybody._ Thinking of her partner causes a lonely pang. It's always after he's gone that she really notices him. _I've accused him of taking me for granted, but I'm just as guilty of that. I guess that's human nature, when someone's always there we assume they always _will_ be there. He's crazy, and he drives_ me_ crazy, but…_ "I like being crazy with him," Scully admits aloud. She'd been walking in circles, and is back within earshot of her boss.

"You like being crazy with him? With Mulder?"

Scully whips around, startled, she hadn't realized that she'd come back to where she'd started. "Yeah, I do. You know, with all the stuff he comes up with, everything he's willing to go chasing after? He's nuts. But then I go along with him, sometimes I even end up agreeing with him, so if he's crazy and I think he's right, then I must be crazy, too. I've never told him that, but I just… love that feeling. It's what makes us a team." Her voice breaks and she looks close to tears. "Like on our first case," reminiscing with a faraway look on her face, "I'd just met him and I was sucked into this world that…suddenly he started making sense! A day or two earlier it would have been unfathomable, but I…" Scully trails off, taking in Skinner's expression. "Oh, god, I'm monologueing. Just…never mind. Forget I said anything."

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Sure," Scully answers, grateful to change the subject.

"How long have to two been…?" he trails off significantly.

"What, partners? About six years now, give or take."

"No, not that, I mean…how long have you been…together?"

With an incredulous snort, Scully actually laughs, "Together? As in, dating? Oh, sir, you and the rest of the Bureau have got the complete wrong idea. You think we're downstairs chasing each other around the desk when business is slow?"

"Well, that _is_ the most popular theory," Skinner admits, "although I've heard far more colorful ones."

"God, no wonder they give us such a hard time."

"So, you're…not?"

"Nope, never dated, never slept toge…well, we haven't had sex," she amends.

"So, you—"

"He's held me," Scully admits softly, bringing her arms up around her shoulders, "that's all. Just held me. He's my…" she trails off, at a loss for what exactly Mulder is at this point, but certain that he's "her" something.

"Scully," Skinner whispers, patting the ground next to him. Much to his surprise she takes his invitation, slipping into his arms to soothe her sudden surge of angst. With a soft moan of pleasure she lets him pet her, forgetting for the moment that it will lead to more discomfiture in the future. The implications of their situation suddenly hit her hard, and she clings to him with impulsive urgency.

"I'll never see him again," she whispers defeatedly.

"You don't know that, we've been gone for a day. Look, if we end up getting stuck here for good, we just have to take care of each other. I'll watch your back, you watch mine, right?"

"Sounds good," she sighs comfortably, wondering if he can feel her hammering heart thrilling at being in a man's arms. _So safe, I could almost rest. To rest…after fighting so long, worrying so long, just to rest…_

Skinner knows better than to let her burst of tenderness go to his head. He knows that nothing's changed between them, nothing big anyway. In her state of grief, she would've turned to just about anyone for comfort, even those three idiots she hangs around with sometimes. After another minute or two, Scully tries to snap herself out of it and brush off the awkwardness she's causing.

"Well…thank you, sir. I, uh, I feel better now. We'd better get back to work."

"You take a break, just relax. I'll keep plugging away at this. We'll have it all up before nightfall, don't worry about that. Maybe you can refill your water bottle, we don't want to get dehydrated."

She nods, grateful that he'd at least given her something useful to do while she collected herself. _ Too bad you're not here to see this, Mulder. It would keep you laughing all through the winter. Me and Skinner, all cuddled up together, can't you just see it? I can't say I was _entirely _surprised by finding out he had a thing for me, I've made a point in the past of wearing skirts when I had a favor to wheedle out of him, I just never knew how serious it was. How personal it was. Where are you, Mulder? This has to be some kind of a sick joke. Stranded here, no idea where 'here' even is, and before you even _have_ to ask: no, I am never flying again. Ever. _ Memories of their crash flood her mind again, making Scully need to sit down. She is no stranger to trauma, but much of her cool demeanor is a well-rehearsed act. Once the audience leaves, she is just as susceptible to panic and fear as anyone else. Looking up at the sky between the palm branches, she requests, "Just come for me, okay? You know I'm not dead, don't you?"

Dipping her feet into the water, she leans back to try to get her mind off of her recent behavior. _Stupid! I'm so stupid! What was I thinking? I must be out of my mind! It felt so good, though. I never would've imagined that he'd be such a nice guy; handy, too. Would you have known how to build a shelter, Mulder? Did they ever cover that on the Twilight Zone? Of course, knowing you, you'd probably rig up a solar-powered generator, running water, and all the comforts of home. Hmm…running water…_

Scully watches the waterfall for a minute, an idea brewing… "Nah, that would be silly. Go to all that work and for what? Just to get rescued in a matter of days?" She ponders, looking back in the direction of their tree-house, then back at the overflowing stream. She stands, brushes herself off, and refills her water bottle, as well as a papaya skin "cup" for a drink. Dumping another cupful over her head, she shakes herself off, hoping that the coolness of the water might revive her senses. She hears rustling overhead, making her jump and look up in alarm. Something scuttles across the ground near her feet, burrowing unseen under the carpet of leaves. With a mild shudder, she picks her way back to the construction site. "Wherever you are, Mulder, hurry," Scully mutters. She sits down next to Skinner and surveys his work. He'd completed two walls and is working on finishing one of hers. Staring in amazement, she points wordlessly from the neat pile of lashed-together branches back to her superior.

Cracking a grin at her unabashed reaction, Skinner holds a nearly complete wall out to her, supposedly to allow her to finish it.

"Thanks. How did you--?" Scully points again at the amount of work he'd done. "Was I gone that long?"

"Maybe you fell asleep, I was just about to come looking for you."

Mentally, she retraces her steps. She remembers staring into the pool, having an internal conversation with her partner… "I don't remember falling asleep, I probably just spaced out. I…had a lot on my mind."

"Well, it looks like we'll have the house together before dark," Skinner remarks, unable to fight down a sense of pride and accomplishment.

Scully scoots closer to him, handing him the water bottle. "Thank you, sir, you've been…such a huge help."

"Ah, don't worry about it. We still don't know if it will hold together."

Tugging at the seams of the wall in her hands, she appraises, "Feels pretty sturdy to me. But you're right, we'll find out."

While Scully sits down to finish her wall, Skinner gets up to stretch his legs. "Hey, Scully? I'm going in a bit farther, is it okay if I borrow your gun?"

"Sure, as long as you don't shoot up the place. And be careful."

"You be careful, too. If you keep talking to yourself like that, pretending he's here, you could start to crack up," he warns. He looks back at her; she has the strangest expression on her face, like she wants to say something but can't. "Something wrong, Agent Scully?"

Shaking her head, she tries again, this time managing an odd gulping sound and a look of embarrassed defeat.

"Scully?"

"D-don't go too far," she blurts out, looking at the ground, making quite a show out of looking for a strip of bark.

"That's it? From the look on your face, I'd expected something stranger than that. I'll stay close by," he assures her. "What was so hard about that?"

Putting a hand over her face, she sighs. _Didn't he notice?_ She looks up at him, her eyes desperate for him to understand without words. But no, he'd never understand her like that, not the way Mulder does. "Sir, I…I just…I told you not to go too far." Sensing that this still isn't a good enough explanation, she plunges forward again. "I…I didn't even ask, I just _ordered_ you to…I'm sorry."

Skinner turns around and walks back to where she's sitting, squatting down next to her. "You're really hung up on protocol, aren't you? I think we can be on even ground while we're here, don't you?" he assesses. He pats her shoulder in an amiable way and is surprised when Scully puts her hand over his. "Scully, don't." He warns, at a loss for what to think as he sees her blushing from his touch.

"Please," she whispers. "I can't, it's too…if you can help it, do something! You don't understand, I just need…" she trails off, pressing their hands together. "Dammit, sir…earlier when you… it was like having him back. I barely remember when he did, but he used to and you reminded me…"

"Who? Mulder?" Skinner guesses, at a total loss for what has her so worked up.

Scully shakes her head, "I don't know, maybe him too." 

"Who else?"

"We got assigned to you not long after he died; I needed someone to fill the void. The two of you would've gotten along; you're a lot alike. I didn't notice much, not consciously anyway, but it was there."

_God, she's talking about her father. Well, let's not kid ourselves, I'm old enough to be her father. She lost him awfully young. She hadn't even turned 30._

"Scully…" he sighs, unsure of what to say.

"I'm sorry, I know it's weird and kind of sick I suppose, but I…I just still miss him sometimes and…We were never that affectionate in my family, so the few times that he was..."

"Mulder doesn't think you got hugged enough," he adds another piece to the puzzle, feeling more wretched every moment. It's one thing to be stranded on a deserted island with the woman he loves; it's quite another when that woman has daddy-issues. "He would've been proud of you, you know."

She nods, "I know. And it wasn't like that, though, you have to believe me. You might remind me of him, but…it's not like that. I just wanted…I didn't mean to…"

"Scully? Would it kill you to finish a sentence? I don't know what you're trying to say," Skinner reminds her as gently as he can. "Just give it to me plain and simple, if you can."

"I like being held," she states, plain and simple. "I just never thought that you'd…be so good at it, I guess."

"You're a little confused, it sounds like." _Such a poor, broken, lonely little thing. I bet I only made her worse, too._

"I don't know what's wrong with me," Scully groans, dropping her head into her arms. "I don't know what's gotten me all wound up like this."

Sitting down next to her, Skinner drapes an arm loosely around her shoulders, she doesn't move away but still looks rather awkward, shy almost. "Look, I can't pretend I understand what you're feeling right now, but I do know that a lot has happened in the past 24 hours that would be enough to get anybody wound up."

Giving him a weak smile, she looks up at him. "Whenever something horrible happens, Mulder's usually just a phone call away. When he holds me, it's all I need to start feeling better. When I was diagnosed with cancer, when Missy died, when I found out I couldn't have children…he's always been there. I'm sorry for how I've been acting; you must think I'm a terrible tease, basically using you as his stunt-double."

"You'd better cut this out, you might get to like it," Skinner remarks, testing his boundaries by running a hand up her cheek and through her hair. Scully takes his wrist and lowers his hand back down, clearly stating their boundaries.

"I thought you were going exploring," she reminds him.

"Will you be okay?"

Scully nods, and he stands up to go, leaving her to her work. This time, instead of getting bored to tears, she slips easily into an almost Zen-like calm. As she starts in on the last wall, she listens to the surrounding bird calls and the ambient noises of the rainforest. She looks for a moment at their campfire, there more for security than for warmth, and throws a couple more pieces of driftwood on it. Looking up at the floor of their tree-house, then back at the fire, she slowly turns a growing idea over in her mind, contemplating how it would work, but certain that whether or not it's doable, it's still a pretty cool idea. She turns her eyes back to her wall, and is amazed to find it well on the way to completion! _I'm getting pretty good at this!_ She allows herself a little bragging room. Again, she descends into inner calm as she gets closer and closer to finishing. Her mind wanders breezily, finding satisfaction in performing this strange task. Her serenity is dispelled, however, when she hears two heavy _thumps_ and a yell from AD Skinner. She jumps to her feet and stumbles along the path he'd taken, wishing she had more practical shoes with her than her heels.

She soon finds him next to a coconut tree. She looks up, sees another tropical missile about to fall, and pulls him out of the way.

He brushes her aside, "I'm fine, I'm fine. Well, at least this means we don't have to climb up to get them," Skinner remarks.

"Oh, now these would be easy to climb!" Scully exclaims, circling it eagerly. "All these nice little notches, that would be a snap! I'm going up."

"Scully, there are three down already, how many do you think we need?"

"Not for the fruit, the branches! Those would be perfect for our roof! Those would be a good bottom layer I think if we found any banana trees, their leaves are nice and broad and water-repellant, they'd keep out the rain, but if we had these underneath as like a framework…"

"Scully?"

"Hmm?" She draws her gaze back from the tree to the man standing next to her.

"How…? I mean, they never covered that on Gilligan's Island reruns."

"No, but it's plausible. Don't you think?"

Skinner looks up, wishing he could see what had excited her so much, still it was striking to see the brightened expression on her face as she planned the improvements to their house-to-be. Bearing in mind how responsive she is to his touch, he keeps his distance from her as she surveys the rest of the area. She returns to him, almost skipping in her excitement, beaming up at him with an armload of fallen palms.

As though she has wasted no time in attuning herself to Skinner, she tells him, as though answering a question, "I always feel better when I'm getting somewhere, this is progress. Once we get the shelter finished, which will be soon, we can start planning for tomorrow. Gathering food, fuel, tending our fires…"

"Good, good…" Skinner agrees, grateful that they seem to have a similar mindset in regards to their situation. It's as though they both realize they need something to do, something to keep their hands off of each other. "I think we should divide up tasks, get them done quicker. Do any of them sound preferable to you?"

"You know, this reminds me of my first summer job when I was a kid. My parents hated it but I wanted to take care of myself, all the usual teenage independence drama."

"Ah, where began your glorious career? A carwash? McDonalds?"

"It wasn't even a McDonalds," Scully laughs, "One of those dinky local knockoff joints."

They both laugh; Skinner envisions a 15-year-old Dana Scully working a cash register in one of those dopey polyester uniforms, getting yelled at through a drive-through speaker. "Oh, the joys of our youth."

"Anyway, our day manager always had the same game plan: divide up the tasks according to what was preferable to each one. The funny thing is, we all found which of the horrible tasks we'd rather do over others. I'd rather scrub the toilets than take out the garbage. Others would rather take out the garbage than mop the floors."

"Well, hopefully nothing we have to do is quite as bad as your first job."

"No, I don't think so, it just reminded me. Well, since I can't quite picture you shimmying up trees, I'll be on gathering duty, until I teach you to climb anyway."

Skinner scoffs, looking skeptically at the coconut tree they'd just been standing under. "Are you kidding, a man my age? Aren't you worried I'd break a hip?"

"Sir, if you fell from that height, breaking a hip would be the least of your concerns."

"That doesn't do much for my confidence," Skinner replies.

Scully looks up around her at the surrounding trees, "I'll start you out on something small, those banana trees look pretty user-friendly."

"Don't let me stop you."

Rolling her eyes at him, she thrusts her armload of palm branches at him, muttering "Spoilsport." She looks up at the bunches of ripening fruit overhead, "You probably wouldn't even have to climb this one, look! All you'd need is a little boost."

"I thought you just said you were on gathering duty."

Picking up the fallen coconuts, Scully points out, "Well, like you said, we don't need any at the moment. We can do our shopping after we have a roof over our heads. And, sir? I kind of had an idea for the house…"

They make their way back and Scully sits down immediately to put the finishing touches on her wall. From the sun's angle in the sky, this project has taken the better part of the day, but at this point she's just amazed that they'd gotten this much done. Two days ago they were staying in a resort hotel, paid for by the Bureau. Now they're building their own house like their ancestors did over a hundred years ago. Once the final wall is completed, they take them up one at a time.

"Scully, do you know what we forgot? We don't have a door, or any windows. We've built a driftwood box," Skinner informs her.

Groaning at their stupidity, Scully opens her purse and starts digging. Meanwhile, Skinner heads back in the direction of the waterfall in hopes of finding a sharp rock to cut out some openings. When he returns, testing a rock's edge with his thumb, he finds that Scully had marked out where a door and two windows would go with a nail file.

"The remaining question, how to do we keep them from falling apart once we cut into them?" Scully asks. "Luckily, at least on mine, I tied each piece individually to the ones next to it. All I'd have to do is make sure the seams aren't ripped."

"Good thinking. You kept it from being all linked together like Christmas tree lights. One goes out, they all go out." Skinner admires their handiwork before cutting into it. With a few _snicks _of his rock-blade, Skinner has managed to cut out a hole for a door. "Now the windows will be harder. I think we should secure the edges of where they're going to go. You know, Scully, putting the house up here was a pretty good idea, now that I think of it. We'll be able to keep a lookout for ships and planes. I can see our plane from here, or what's left of it."

Scully, too, peers into the distance and sees the wreck. "There's bound to be something useful in the wreckage. Just think: the seat belts, the upholstery, the propellers…" Looking at it now, she sees not the remains of a crashed plane, but a treasure on the beach.

Skinner seems to be getting the same idea. "You're right; there might even be a flare-gun or an emergency pack or something. Well, it's not going anywhere, and I don't think anybody's going to beat us to it, so let's finish this up before checking it out."

"Aye, aye, sir." Scully mock-salutes, securing the framework of their windows-to-be. "What should we use for a door? I don't know about you, but I would feel a bit exposed without one."

"We'll just make one out of the part of the wall I cut out. I'll take care of it. We'll do the same for shutters. If you want curtains you'll have to make them yourself," he retorts. After Scully is done tying off the branches, Skinner starts cutting into them. This is a bit trickier than the door, since he doesn't want to take out entire sections of the wall just to get a few squares hewn out, but he is soon successful.

"Whew!" Scully sighs, "Good thing we caught that before we put it all together. That would've been bad." She bends over and starts pushing up one of the walls while Skinner lifts up on his end. While Skinner holds it up, Scully takes long strips of softened bark and vine and laces them between the floor and the bottom of the wall. With a couple of attempts and very few injuries, they get the first one up. The rest go up more easily after that. Sure enough, by sundown, they have a rudimentary roof over their heads.

"Not bad…not bad at all," Scully remarks, brushing her hands off. "I'm going to get more water, I'll be right back."

Skinner stops her before she gets to the ladder, "No, it's my turn, we've been trading off all day, let's not break up the rhythm. Besides, I don't like the idea of you wandering around the island after dark, you don't know what's out there."

"Neither do you. Do I look like a damsel in distress? I've handled worse in the dark, I've seen worse by the light of day, so don't go making me sound like I'm some helpless thing."

"I'm not saying you're helpless, you know that."

"Besides, it's not completely dark out, I can still see to find my way back."

"Fine, we might as well both go. We need to build up the fires so they don't go out overnight and we need to gather more food for tonight and tomorrow morning. Let's just try to stick together at least, okay?"

"Right behind you," Scully sighs. Together they pile more wood onto the fire on the beach, fill the water bottle and coconut shells with water from the lagoon, and bank the coals on their campfire. A visit to a nearby banana tree rounds out their evening to-do list, gathering the fruit as well as leaves for their beds. Neither of them even suggests sleeping together tonight, they make their own nests about a foot away from each other.

"Maybe tomorrow we can make some frames, weave something together…might be more comfortable," Skinner suggests.

"Sounds good," Scully answers drowsily, "I've had a few ideas, too. But it depends on how long we end up staying here."

"What kind of ideas?"

"Well, a fireplace for starters…we could make a sand pit in the middle of the room, so we can have a fire in here. Of course then we'd have to have some kind of chimney…and it's not like it's cold or anything…" she yawns.

"It's worth looking into," Skinner agrees. "What's another one?"

"I thought maybe if there was a way to get water up here, so we didn't have to go to the waterfall every time we needed a refill."

"Running water. Any idea how to do that?"

"Hmm-mm, just a thought. Good night, sir."

"Good night, Agent Scully."


	6. Possibilities

The next morning Skinner is the first one up. He goes downstairs to fuel up their camp fire and fetches their clothes while he's at it. When he goes back up, he's surprised to find Scully laying there in the fetal position, staring catatonically at the wall.

"Scully? Agent Scully?" he calls her, squatting down next to her. "Come on, snap out of it. Time to get up."

She moans a short protest and rolls over with a heavy sigh.

Following her line of sight, Skinner switches to her other side, tugging at her arm. "Come on, we've got lots to do. You wanted to check out the plane for useable stuff, right? Let's go!" When his attempts to get her up go unrewarded, he starts to get worried. "Are you sick? How's your head? Is it your stomach? You know, too much fruit can't be good for you." Sitting next to her he holds her hand, stroking it sympathetically. "Did you get any sleep last night? Come on, Scully, talk to me."

"I didn't think we'd still be here, I thought someone would find us."

"If you thought someone would find us, why did you spend all day building this house?"

"Because it gave me something to do!"

With a firmer pull, Skinner manages to drag Scully to her feet, "Well, find something to do today! I'm not going to let you lose your marbles now. So come on."

"Sir, please, I don't feel up to this."

"Do I look like I care? Now go take a swim, have a banana, you'll feel better. And meet me at the wreck. I've been up for an hour already."

"Well, whoop-de-do for you!" Scully snarls as she heads down the ladder.

After taking a long dip, although not nearly long enough to wash away her foul mood, Scully scrubs out her clothes and wrings them out. Cringing as she dresses in wet clothes she then dashes out as fast as she can, eager to get into the sunlight to dry off. She finds Skinner already waiting for her.

"Feel better?" He asks a little too cheerfully.

"I have a headache," she growls, "I haven't had coffee for two days."

"That explains it."

Scully crosses her arms over her chest, "What?"

"Why you're little Miss Sunshine this morning. Withdrawal. It's no fun for me, either, we're both coming off of it."

"Let's just call in sick, huh? Start up same time tomorrow. I'm sleepy."

"And grumpy and dopey. Need a drink?" He offers her the water bottle.

Scully takes it and holds it against her head with a grateful sigh. "Thanks. Oh, hang on, what am I thinking? I know I have Tylenol in my purse." Again, Skinner surprises her by holding two caplets out to her. "Thank you," she repeats, popping them in her mouth and washing them down.

"All right, ready to roll? Let's see what we can salvage from this thing."

After giving Scully a leg up into the craft, and getting helped aboard in return, they carefully make their way in to see what they can find. Scully heads straight for the back; being the lighter of the two she posed the lesser risk of tipping the plane.

"Sir, look at this, there's a duffle bag!"

"Great, what do we have?"

She unzips it and rummages around, "There's a flare gun, no extra flares though, that's too bad. That means we've only got one shot. Please, God, let there be toilet paper in here…dammit. Oh, but look, there's rope! We could've used that yesterday. Oh well. There's a knife! Perfect…Sir! There's not a lot here, but it's some pretty good stuff. It'll come in handy if we stay here any longer. I wonder if there are any emergency rations or anything."

"If you're looking for coffee, don't get you're hopes up. Here, when you get that stuff out on the beach, give me a hand with these chairs. We can use them as beds or something. We can even use this sheet metal to haul things on. You were right, there's a bunch of stuff we can use here!"

"Like the fireplace! We could rip off some of the hull and dent it in the middle, fill it with sand and presto!"

"Exactly. And how about that running-water idea you had…do you think anything here could make that happen?"

Scully looks around, hoping that something will trigger an idea. "Not really, I hadn't really thought that one out quite as well as the fireplace. In hindsight, that's kind of silly since the water would've been more useful than a fireplace."

"Well, a fireplace would be nice, too. That way we could cook indoors, or just have it for light even if we don't need it to keep warm."

"It would be good for drying laundry," Scully remarks, plucking at her still-sopping clothes.

"Look at you, you're steaming yourself," Skinner remarks. Although she doesn't answer, he sees her shudder. "Come here," he says softly, pulling her into his arms.

Scully drapes herself against him, immediately feeling his body heat penetrating into her wet skin. "Stop it, stop it," she mutters as she cuddles into him with a content sigh.

"Shh, you like it, too, so there's no point arguing," he responds, rubbing her back and shoulders briskly to try to dry her off.

"But sir…"

"We're just trying to get you dry."

"Please stop," she softly moans, "Don't let me. It's not fair to you. It isn't real, it's just been so long"

Skinner runs a hand through her hair, "Do you really want to stop? We can if you want to. How's your head?"

"Better. Now please." Scully pushes against him with minimal effort and starts gathering things up to take back to the shelter. He watches her for a minute, and their eyes meet again. Averting her gaze, she clears her throat theatrically and says "Thank you."

Skinner gathers up a load to carry, shaking his head in puzzlement at his fellow castaway's behavior. _All right, so she likes to cuddle. Still, I never would have imagined her clinging to anyone like this. Maybe it's because we're alone and she knows I won't tell on her. Maybe she just didn't get hugged enough when she was a kid. Maybe she just thinks we're going to live here for the rest of our lives, so why not learn to like each other. It's true that they probably gave us up for dead, but it's too early for her to lose hope. Lose hope, like I'm some kind of consolation prize? She's not that shallow; it's not like she's grieving and is in the position to take comfort in just anybody. But the way she talked to me earlier…it wasn't nice, that's for sure, but there was a familiarity. Probably how she would've talked to Mulder. She's treating me like an equal, I guess that's a start. She didn't want me to hold her any longer than necessary because it's unfair to _me. _ She doesn't want to lead me on._

They both drop down onto the beach with their loads of supplies; Scully organizes it into neat piles according to type, practically glowing over their hoard.

"Scully, are we all right? I mean, is everything…okay between us? Because if there's a problem, I don't want it to get out of control."

"I hope so. I'm sorry for getting weird again. It's just…I don't know," she ineloquently explains.

"Scully, I'm not a mind-reader, I've told you. You need to speak in complete sentences; I'm not Mulder."

"I mean I do like you…and…you have to promise not to repeat this to anyone," she warns. Skinner crosses his heart and gives her the Boy Scout's salute. Scully continues, smiling a little through her embarrassment. "Anyway…there's something kind of attractive about…how you feel about me. It's like 'wow, what a sweet guy.' And I never really thought that about you before. Unless of course, you know, you totally saved our asses or something. Then that's…you know…thanks. I just don't know what's gotten into me, it's like ever since we landed here I've been super-hormonal or something. I haven't felt this…strongly in a long time, mainly because the only person I've been around up till now probably wouldn't have taken me seriously."

"I think you underestimate Mulder. One thing guys do is they act like something isn't a big deal, treat it like it isn't important, so that it's less of a blow if it falls through. You know, the cool act."

"I can't speak for all women, but I hate the 'cool act'. Why can't you people just act the way you genuinely are? Everything has to be such an act. I get enough cloak-and-dagger business at work, I don't need it in my personal life as well. If that's the case then that's just sad. It means we could've had something, we could've at least tried. He knows how I feel about him: he can be a real jerk sometimes and he's inconsiderate and a total slob but he's also the smartest, kindest man I know. Sometimes I'd wonder how we manage to work together, now I can't imagine going the rest of my life without him. I should've known something would separate us; I should be glad that it took something this big to keep us apart. So many things almost did the job, but…"

"You're like an old married couple. You practically lived together, worked together, fought together, but I bet that even in the worst of it--"

"There's no one else I'd rather fight it out with."

"You were right yesterday; Mulder won't give up on us that easily. He'll find some covert way to keep the search going. Skew the story a bit into a 'mysterious disappearance' to keep the case open."

Scully laughs, "Great, now I'm an X-File. You know, I always suspected it would happen someday. I'm just glad it wasn't something too silly."

"Silly?" Skinner asks, curious.

"You know, involving something stupid like shrink rays or leprechauns or something."

Skinner laughs right out, "Well, it's good to hear that you have your standards."

"Well, it's like at the end of those Monty Python videos that Mulder's got. Sometimes the skits only end with someone dressed up like a policeman walking in saying 'Stop that, it's gotten silly.' You know? For me it's like: aliens, fine, normal day at the office; ghosts, mutants, that kind of thing I've dealt with. We even had a homicidal genie living in a carpet. But sometimes even we have to just walk away from it and say 'Now that's just silly.'"

"I'll keep that in mind for future reports, you should find some code for it so I know ahead of time."

Changing the subject abruptly, Scully looks through their findings again, "So, what should we do with all of this? There's some metal that got torn off of the hull…" she trails off, finally making herself look at the damage, how lucky they were not to have been killed on impact. "Your idea was to rig up a kind of sled to drag it back to the shelter. I think that would work, especially with the sides curved up like this, it would keep things from spilling out. So…we have the seats, the seatbelts, the duffle bag, a few odds and ends…it shouldn't be too heavy to push."

"I also thought of seeing if we could rip out the interior carpeting. It's pretty thin, shouldn't put up too much of a fight. It could go under the roof, or we could wrap it around the rungs of our ladder so it's more slip-resistant," Skinner suggests.

"Good thinking. I bet if we could knock out the windows, they'd come in useful, too. We could make a reflector out of them, to signal ships." They both look at each other, smiling with amusement at the way their thinking has changed in the past two days. Previously, neither of them would have seen half of the potential that the wreck had to offer, now it seems perfectly natural.

"You know, it makes me think of how much we take for granted back home. It definitely changes perception, doesn't it?"

"I was thinking the same thing," Scully sighs. "Say, do you have my purse? You had my Tylenol a little bit ago."

"Uh, yeah. I brought it out, in case we needed a chainsaw or something to get into the plane." He sees her roll her eyes at his joke and hands it over. "Hope you don't mind."

"Well, next time just ask first, okay? I'm all for pooling our resources but we should still respect each other's stuff." She digs through it, then slowly comes to a halt. Closing her eyes in frustration, she tilts her head skyward, "I've forgotten what I was looking for."

Skinner laughs, "After all that you don't even know what you needed."

"Oh, shut up."

"Careful, Agent Scully, you could get written up for talking to your superior like that."

"Ha!" she exclaims triumphantly, remembering what she'd been looking for. "My glasses, I put them back in my purse last night."

"It took you that long to realize things were out of focus?"

"Careful, Assistant Director, you could get in trouble for mocking one of your best field agents."

"Oh, and who would that be?" Skinner makes a show of looking around for anyone else in the vicinity, getting a playful swat for his trouble.

"And as for things being out of focus, it completely slipped my mind, I'd chalked it up to my caffeine headache to be honest. I bet I'm already getting the marks on my nose from where they sit," Scully grumbles, adjusting her frames. She digs in her purse again and fishes out her sunscreen/bug spray combo. After giving herself a good cover, she turns to her boss. "Hey, I'll do your back if you do mine."

"Uh, deal," Skinner agrees, taking the spritz bottle and finishing her. After a second's pause, he rubs it in.

The feel of his hands against her back make Scully draw a long slow breath. As she closes her eyes to enjoy the sensation, his wandering hands hit a ticklish spot near her ribs. She lets out a short shriek of laughter before scooting away from him on the beach. She sits still within arm's reach, her hands over her sides, protecting her vulnerable spots.

"The big, scary FBI agent is ticklish," Skinner chuckles. Scully flings a spray of sand in his direction, scowling: a rather ridiculous rendering of her normally all-business persona. She runs her fingers through her hair, hoping that she isn't blushing.

"If you're going to be like that, you can forget what I said about sharing," she remarks, taking the bottle from him and making to walk away.

"Oh, come on, Scully. I didn't do it on purpose. It surprised me, too; I didn't think you could make sounds that shrill. I'm sorry, all right?"

Hovering back over him, she spritzes his scalp, rubbing it in with a mischievous grin. Skinner quietly endures his head being polished by enjoying the view of her leaning over him. Mere inches separate them, and he could take care of that before she knew what hit her. Knowing he must resist the urge to throw her down onto the sand right now, he turns his gaze away from her more enticing features and looks up into her eyes. Another mistake.

Scully sees the longing expression on his face and is immediately taken aback. This time she's certain she's blushing. And, to add to her perplexed state, she feels something stirring within herself as well. "Sir…" she sighs, straightening up and backing away. This time, he doesn't let her get away; he grabs her by the wrist and gently pulls her back. She returns unresisting and kneels down in the sand facing him. Shaking her head anxiously, Scully can't even find the words for what she's trying to say. Skinner touches her lips with two fingers and pulls her closer. "Please…" she breathes, her eyes wide and fearful. Slipping his hand to the back of her head, he kisses her. She reacts with a squeak of alarm, but doesn't resist. He starts out cautiously, knowing the only thing that's stopping her from pulling away right now is her overwhelming surprise at his boldness. They both feel it grow, becoming more urgent, demanding, insatiable. His hands find their way around her waist, softly pressing her into his body. Then as suddenly as it had begun, Scully breaks it off. She remains in his arms, shaking from the adrenaline rush, making soft whimpering sounds as she processes what had just happened.

"Sir…"

"Scully, I'm sorry, I couldn't help it."

Touching her mouth, as though expecting to still feel him there, Scully looks at him quizzically. "You kissed me…you _kissed_ me."

Nodding shamefully, Skinner confirms, "Yes."

"He kissed me," she sighs to herself, closing her eyes and lying against his shoulder, panting to catch her breath. Clearly, it's still running 'does not compute'.

"I'm so sorry, Scully. I don't know what came over me."

Scully simply continues to stare at him as though she's never seen him before, still surprised by the kiss but even more surprised that she liked it. She feels her face burn as she replays it in her mind. The physical desire was almost more than she can handle, but she must put her foot down before he gets the wrong idea.

"Not now, oh god not now," she softly pleads, hoping he'd understand. Given time, she supposes that she could someday return his feelings, but they just don't know each other well enough for that yet. She's had too many relationships like that, where one was more emotionally involved than the other. She didn't want to put Skinner through that. _He kissed me_, she thinks to herself, allowing herself to get swept up in how good it felt. For the first time since she turned the big 3-5 Scully feels young and attractive again, desired…Sure, Mulder could always be counted on to turn something into a sexual innuendo, but his puerile attention needed a little honing to be taken seriously. Refusing to let herself ponder her superior's potential prowess, Scully moves behind him and clinically applies the sunscreen to his back and shoulders before going back to their supplies. Looking back up at the wreck, she ponders the rest of it.

Scully's eyes are fixed on the propellers, listing lazily in the breeze. Slowly, her eyes go wide as an idea sparkles to life. "Sir, I think we should see if we can take out the propellers. It could be useful just to have something resembling a wheel around. Or we could use them as tools or weapons. What do you think?"

"Oh—sounds great. Good idea. Do you know if there was a tool kit in the cockpit? We'll need a wrench or something to disassemble the engines."

"Yes, there was one under my seat. Here it is!"

"How about we get this load back to the house and then come back for more. That way it won't get so bogged down," Skinner suggests. Together they load up a twisted sheet of metal with their findings, then they begin pushing it through their trail to the tree house.


	7. Progress and Pitfalls

"So, Scully, what do you think you'd be doing if you were home right now?" Skinner attempts to strike up a normal conversation.

"Oh, we'd probably be in the office getting ready for our latest wild-goose chase…or else we'd be in your office getting an earful for misbehaving at the conference." Pausing to catch her breath, she gives a soft grunt of effort as she keeps pushing their possessions along. "Then we'd probably head back to my place, order in from that Thai restaurant that just opened…dammit, we wanted to try them before we left!"

Skinner smirks, of all the things for her to miss, it's a takeout joint. Or maybe not… "You two are joined at the hip, aren't you?" He says, recognizing her persistent use of first-person plural. She considers herself a "we", or at least part of a "we".

"I guess so. When we're not together, we usually end up saving each other's asses."

"What about now?"

"Now? Now I'm waiting for him to come get us."

They save their breath for a while, pushing their sled along in silence. Skinner knows that this isn't the time to tell her, he shouldn't burst her bubble like this but it's only fair that she know…"Scully? You know, if there's no evidence to lead anyone here…" he stops short, changing his mind, "We might have a while to wait."

Scully looks at him, as though she has an idea of what he had been about to say. "I know, sir. Mulder will find us, though. You'll see."

"Is that what you really believe? Or what you want to believe?"

Scully scoffs at his remark, in her mind's eye she can see Mulder's UFO poster dominating their office décor. She feels a melancholy pang of homesickness and tries to dismiss it… "I want to believe," she replies in an undertone, pushing with new determination. "We have fires burning, and the smoke signal, and we'll make some kind of reflectors from the windows…he'll find us."

"That's the spirit," he agrees, letting her optimism penetrate his cynicism. _Whatever happens, I'll take care of you. You're going to be fine,_ Skinner thinks, wishing he could say it out loud without alarming her. _If I could, I would make you so happy, you'd never be lonely again._

In a little while they reach the shelter and begin unloading. Skinner and Scully look at each other, then at the ladder, then at the chairs from the plane. Scully blows a lock of hair out of her face in a frustrated huff, stretching her shoulders as they anticipate their next move.

"You go up ahead, Scully, catch the top of one and we'll carry it up together," Skinner suggests. Scully nods, getting a bit of a lead on him up the ladder as he holds up one end of a chair for her to grab. It's slow going up; Scully is nearly climbing up backwards, trying to hold onto her end and onto the ladder: straining, pushing, and pulling; but they soon make it to the top. With a few adjustments, they are able to lay it flat on the floor. They do the same with the second one and they both lie down to rest.

After lying still for several minutes, Skinner starts to roll over, but stops abruptly and cries out. Scully jumps up and goes to examine him.

"What's wrong, where does it hurt?"

"It's my back, I think I overdid it. I'm just not used to this kind of work," he groans.

"How bad is it? Did you hear or feel anything snap?" In full doctor mode, she feels his spine, touching here and there to find out where the trouble is.

"It's nothing, I just strained it a little. Nothing popped or anything, it's just sore. Just like I'm sure you will be soon enough. We'll both feel this in the morning. You're just young and spry and more agile than an old guy like me. You can handle more punishment and bounce back from it quicker." She keeps examining him, hoping he's right when he reaches over his shoulder to take her hand, softly sighing her name.

"Sir, I need both—"

"Scully…stop kidding around. Don't pretend you don't know what you're doing to me."

"I'm only trying to help, you're the one turning it into something else."

"Am I? I don't remember hearing any complaints on the beach." He tries to sit up defiantly, but the effect is lost when he gasps in pain and has to lie down again.

"No, sir, you didn't," Scully admits softly.

"And will you stop calling me that?! I'm sorry, Scully, if I'm making things uncomfortable for you, but you still haven't given me a straight answer. You make quite a show of trying to get away but you still come back to me, wanting to hug, to touch…something. And I want to: provided I know what it is you want. If all you want is something physical without any emotional ties, I don't think that's good for either of us. But if you feel anything…" he braces himself and rolls over to face her, touching her cheek, "Anything…"

"I want…I want…" she sighs, holding his hand to her face, "Oh god…of all the people on this Earth to say these things to me, it's you! I know that sounds like a horrible thing to say, but just think about it from my perspective for a minute. For the longest time, I didn't even know if I could trust you. I wasn't even sure whose side you were on. I'm not used to being open around you. And in all fairness, when was the last time I gave you a straight answer? I…I'm really scared by all this, I need time, I need room. You can't just snap your fingers and just have me, like that. What will we do once we get home? Have you thought of that? In a week or two, once we get back to the old routine, will you be asking me out on nights I'm in town? You want me to drop the formalities, but what of that? I don't want to drop my shields for you just to put them back up again. I don't want you offering me something I can't keep!" She's been stretched as far as she can stand, the dam is broken and the remainder of her tirade is lost amid frustrated sobs. All the tension that's been building up since they'd crashed has all comes to its boiling point and there's no turning it off. Scully lies back down on her 'bed', facing deliberately away from Skinner. Tucking her knees up to her chest, her breathing comes in deep gulps as lets her crying fit run its course. All of her fear, anger, and uncertainty are given voice in a singular howl of misery.

After a few minutes, she stops and faces him. She's probably the single saddest thing he's laid eyes on in years. Kicking himself for making such demands of her after what she's gone through already, Skinner wishes there was something he could do to make it right. He reaches out and strokes her hair, her eyes drift closed as she savors his touch, and a few stray tears leak out.

"Scully…I'm sorry. I've been hard on you, doing everything I assured you I wouldn't. I don't know what's wrong with me, why I've lost control like this, I just…when I see you like it, too. It made me think you wanted more."

"I want it. But I don't want to," she murmurs. "I hate feeling this way, all hot and funny and out of my mind…I don't know when I started wanting this from you, I guess I never realized how lonely I am until you showed that you were my friend. I like that, I really like that. I miss him so much," she adds as a non-sequiter. "Is it enough for us to be friends? Friends hug, that's normal. If…you want more than that, you're just going to have to wait. Does that sound fair?"

"Perfectly. I'll wait as long as you need. I'm just happy to be anything to you right now, after the way we've been acting. Rest up a bit before we bring up the next load."

XXX

Skinner doesn't realize when he'd fallen asleep, but sure enough, he finds himself waking up to a peculiar sensation in his back. Some spots feel cool, others feel warm and, as strange as it might sound, weighted down. Just when he's about to sit up to have a look, he feels Scully's hand on his back, pushing him back down.

"Don't get up, I'm doing a little experimental therapy on you. Hot stone massage, like you get at the spa! How's that feel?" She adds another warm stone to his sore back muscles.

"That feels…better, actually. I can't say I ever went to the spa, so I'll have to trust you on this, but I think it's helping. Thank you."

He can't see it, but he can hear the smile in her voice. "You're welcome. It's been a while since I've had a live subject, it's a nice change." She swaps out a cooling stone for a fresh one and lays down eye-level with him. "You really think it's helping?"

"Yeah, thanks, this is great. Wait…how long was I out for?"

"Not very long, just enough time for me to find some smooth stones from the waterfall and heat them in the fire downstairs. I keep cycling them out in batches so I can replace the cooling ones quickly enough."

Turning his head carefully so he doesn't disturb his therapeutic rocks, Skinner takes a deep breath to prepare for what he's about to say. Surprisingly, he's stopped.

"Don't apologize. If we keep saying sorry to each other every time one of us gets a little weird, that's the only conversation we're going to end up having. I understand what you're going through; I just hope you understand where I stand. Believe it or not, it's been a long time. A _long_ time…and, I don't want to rush into anything when our future is so uncertain. I don't want to put myself or you through that mess if it's all for nothing. I've just about given up on the idea of ever having a normal relationship, like human beings do, because let's face it: we're not normal human beings. We never were and we never will be. You have to keep up appearances with the big boys upstairs, and Mulder and I have to try to do our job and not get killed. With those kinds of agendas, it's just not possible. For what it's worth, though, I appreciate it. I can't tell you what it means to me. I don't know, sir…if things were different…I don't know."

Skinner listens attentively, for the first time that he can recall a woman is telling him directly what she wants and why. If only more people could follow her example, life would be so much simpler. Her reasons are sound and valid; she isn't just shrinking away from him because he's a horny old man gawking at a woman half his age. What she'd said on the beach about having enough cloak-and-dagger business at work to be up to putting up with it in her personal life is now doubly meaningful. She'd meant it about Mulder, but it would be true of him, too. If they were together at home, they'd have to work especially hard at not being able to stand each other in the office. He's sick of playing double-agent, it wouldn't be anything to base a relationship from, it wouldn't be fair to either of them. Especially since from what Scully had just said, she wanted the long haul as much as he did. When you reach a certain age, you get thoughts of settling down.

Scully breaks his inner-monologue short: "How's your back?"

"Hmm? Oh, fine, fine. Thanks again." He feels her start taking the cooled stones off his back and he sits up, stretching to test his muscles. To his surprise, the pain is completely gone. "Oh, wow, that's the best." Scully beams at his praise, and helps him to stand.

"Ready to bring the rest of it up?"

"And then the propellers. We are going to have the best tree-house on record."

Scully walks out the door and stands on their narrow deck, looking down the ladder. "We should have some kind of railing in place, it would be really easy for one of us to fall off of this in the night. Don't want you to break a hip," she teases.

"You're all heart," Skinner answers sarcastically. "Just the same, it's a good idea. Even if we do get rescued soon, I don't want any accidents that we can prevent."

After they get the rest of the little stuff brought up, they make the long trek back to the beach, half pushing half dragging their 'sled' along with them. Once they get to the beach, they go through the tool kit, generally guessing at what they'd need, they look up at the twin engines. One is tilted down low enough to the ground, that it wouldn't be too much trouble to reach; the other, however, is pointed skyward, offering a precarious platform from which to perform this task.

"Think you can do that one?" Skinner points at the higher of the two. Scully blanches with a nervous gulp, but nods. They scramble up the hull of the plane, the portions that had been ripped out in the crash offer handy places to grab onto. As Skinner begins working on his propeller, Scully cautiously creeps up the wing to get to hers. Reminding herself that she isn't afraid of heights, she crawls out the rest of the way. She stares at the engine, unsure of where or how to begin. Looking down the wing, she sees her superior in the same sort of fix. They both look at each other and shrug. Scully gives the propeller a push, watches its three blades spin on its axle, hoping it would give her some sort of clue. She reaches in a crack and feels around where it's connected to the plane: a long rod embedded in the engine cover. Wiping her blackened fingers ineffectively against each other, she sits back on her heels with a sigh. She looks over to see how Skinner is doing, and to her surprise he's managed to remove the large conical apparatus that's holding the blades in place! Following his lead, she braces herself against the wing and twists as hard as she can. It's about five feet in diameter, equal to her arm span, making it difficult for her to get a good grip. She bangs hard against it with her wrench, as if it's an oversized pickle jar, and gives it another go. After a few cycles of this seemingly ridiculous system, she's rewarded when she feels it inch towards the left. It's so unexpected that it would actually work, that she laughs out loud at her success. Skinner hears her happy squeal and looks up, amazed once again that a woman that he'd considered synonymous with dignity and grace would make sounds so cartoonish. A few good yanks get his propeller out of its apparatus; he's pushed it out onto the beach and he clambers down after it, leaving Scully up there to finish tackling hers. Now that she's made her initial progress, she makes short work of the rest of the job. With a satisfying splash, she kicks it out and jumps in after it.

"Scully, wait, let me help you with that, it's heavy," Skinner insists, wading out to her. The first steps into the water reveal that their island is fringed with coral. He looks down and sees tiny fish and crustaceans flicking around them. He weaves his way around the miniature reefs, looking farther out to see waves crashing around its 'big brothers' in a rare moment of admiring the view. Such raw savage beauty of the natural world makes him suddenly feel very small. Shaking himself, he returns to the object at hand, and helps Scully fish out the propeller from the surf. As they carry it between them back to the beach, Skinner stumbles over something underwater and cries out. Scully gasps as she sees the water around his ankles tinge a misty scarlet. Skinner stubbornly continues back to the beach, propeller in tow, and only when they reach the sand does he drop down next to it to examine the cut on his leg.

"You cut yourself on the coral," Scully says unnecessarily.

"I can see that, Agent Scully!" he growls. "Didn't you say you have some bandages in that luggage of yours?"

"I'll get it in a minute, sir, just hang on. There's…something I need to do first." She sounds hesitant, as though she finds what she's about to do distasteful.

"And what's that?"

"Well, sir, you cut yourself on coral…which is technically a living thing…which, if it's entered, say, an open wound will continue to grow."

"_On_ me??" Skinner shudders.

"That…and probably in you as well."

This diagnosis is met with his professional opinion: "Eww!"

"Unfortunately, the cure is only slightly less unpleasant than the condition. Just look away for a minute and close your eyes."

"Scully, what--"

"And don't talk to me, I'll get stage fright!"

_Stage fright?_ He thinks, but complying with her requests. He looks away and closes his eyes, and in a minute he feels something warm trickling onto his cut. When it stops, he looks back around quickly and sees her squatting over his leg. Realization that she's just peed on him hits him with mild horror, but given the choice between that and the alternative…

Scully straightens up, "Sorry I had to do that, but it'll keep it from breeding anyway. Now don't move until I get back, you're going to be all right."

She finds her purse under a tree and returns with the bandages. Luckily, the cut isn't very big so it doesn't take many to cover it. "Now, stay out of the water while it heals, I don't want to waste these since they're all we have."

"Yes, Doctor."

"It's not too deep, it'll just take a few days to heal up."

"And, will you need to…?"

"Go number one on you again? I don't think so. Thanks for being a good sport about it. The same thing works for jellyfish stings, you know."

"Good to know. Now, have we gotten enough from the wreck for today?"

But Scully doesn't seem to hear him. She's staring at the propeller lying with its axle planted at an angle in the ground. As the tide comes in, it splashes over blades, pushing them around like the wind. Even as she watches them turn, it reminds her of something, something she's long forgotten. In her mind's ear she hears the rickety spinning sound of a crude set of pulleys, and she wonders what to attach it to. She holds onto that sound in her mind, playing it over and over, when a soft splashing sound joins it.

"Let's just leave these here for now while your leg heals up a little, just till it stops bleeding." She looks over to their bonfire, which has died down to glowing embers overnight. "I'll build up the fire and see if I can catch some fish. How does that sound?"

"You can fish?" Skinner asks incredulously.

"Well, unless you'd rather live on coconuts and bananas…" she offers. "Look, I'm no expert or anything, but the ocean's full of living things. I should be able to at least catch _something_." Skinner considers this and has to agree. Even if there are clams or oysters past the drop-off, they don't try too hard to get away.

"How well can you swim?"

Scully shrugs, "Well enough. As long as the current isn't too strong I should be fine."

"Be careful," he orders, looking deadly serious.

"I promise not to go out too far." From her tone, he can tell that she isn't offended by his concern.

He watches her wade out into the shallows, bending over to examine tide pools for potential lunch possibilities. Then she remembers the fire, and goes back towards the trees for more dead wood. As the logs hit, orange sparks fly upwards and flames reach up to consume their fuel. He sees her dip her hands in the water and stand perfectly still for a short while. There's a brief struggle and some frustrated yells as the first one gets away. Repeat. After the seventh try, she gets something, and with a delighted squeal she flings a fish onto the shore. Again, she's lucky and another fish is cast out of the water.

At this point, Skinner gets up and hobbles over to her. If she's going to catch the fish, the least he can do is clean them. With a sharp rock, he slits one down its belly. He reaches in to remove the viscera and tosses it aside. He then scrapes off the scales and impales it on a long stick over the fire. He does the same to the other one, saving the entrails for possible bait if they should try using more conventional fishing methods later on. Just as he's imagining how to make a fishing pole with what they have here, a third fish is thrown right in his face with a wet slap! He looks up, and sees Scully clap her hands to her mouth and stare wide-eyed like a guilty child. Both of them are still for a moment, but then neither of them can help but laugh at what just happened. He wipes his face with the back of his hand, still laughing over the expression Scully wore, and cleans this fish as well. Scully soon returns to the fire, carrying the fourth and final catch of the day.

"Are you all right?" She asks, a smile still twitching at her lips.

"I've had worse," he responds in faux-seriousness.

She sits with him by the fire, turning the fish to cook evenly. "What kind do you suppose these are?"

"I really don't know. I'm getting too hungry to care. All I care about is how long these will take to cook." Skinner stops staring into the fire to look at over at Scully, with a small mental note that she hasn't had makeup on in two days, and she actually looks better for it. A bit washed-out by comparison, but then he chalks that up to the fact that human skin isn't meant to come in such garishly bold colors that women tend to paint themselves in. It's all rather silly, Skinner thinks, grateful for not the first time that he hadn't been born a girl.

"What happened to your sun hat that you made yesterday?"

"Oh, it fell apart, it wasn't exactly built to last. The sunscreen should keep me from burning up for now, I can always make another one."

"That's the spirit. In the meantime, I think lunch is ready." He takes the fish from the fire, peels the skin off of one, and hands it to Scully. He then digs into his own, carefully pulling it away from the bones.

"You know, I bet we could make some hooks or needles or something from these bones, they're really sharp," Scully notices, sucking a pricked finger. "This fish isn't half bad, could use a little salt though."

Skinner apparently isn't as finicky, and is already well into his second fish. He looks out at the ocean and points, "There's your salt, out there. If we could catch some sea water in something shallow, wait for it to evaporate…actually, I bet there's already some around here. We could check the rocks just beyond the shoreline."

"It's not important right now."

"Well, not right now, but we can get it, that's all I'm saying."

Scully nods, "Good to know." She watches the ocean for a few minutes, mesmerized by the rhythmic crashes of the waves, wondering if there was a ship out looking for them. Where was it, and when would it find them? With a dejected sigh, she folds her arms over her knees and lays her head in them.

Skinner nudges her, hoping to goad her into motion, "Come on, Scully, no time to mope now. We need to get those propellers to the shelter and see what we can rig up."

Half-heartedly, she nods, allowing him to drag her up by the hand. They load up the propellers into their sled and push it back to the shelter. Along the way they gather more fruit. When they get near the waterfall, Scully peers up at their smoke signal.

"Sir, I've been thinking…we should go back up there."

"Scully, this isn't the time or the place for a pick-me-up."

She rolls her eyes at him in annoyance with a slight growl. "I don't want to get high, I want to see if there's something else we can use that for. Hemp is supposed to make excellent twine and other materials. Even the seeds have verifiable medicinal qualities. It would be a shame to just burn it all up on the off chance of someone noticing it."

Skinner looks up as well, "All right, we could unload all this and go up afterwards. We'll just have to remember not to breathe too deeply." They smile at each other and get a move on.

"I think I have the running-water idea off to a start, too. All we need are some cups and some kind of reservoir for it to pour into."

"Sounds do-able," Skinner agrees. "Maybe if we had a turtle shell or something, it would make a great sink. Maybe we should think of something to stop it when we don't need it. I mean, if we let the water run 24-7 it would not only be wasteful but it would make us really have to pee." He looks like he instantly regrets his crudity, muttering, "Sorry, Scully."

"Not a problem, I was thinking the same thing actually. Now, we could use some shells from largish coconuts, anything smaller would just take too many. In the book they used bamboo, but that doesn't grow around here, so we'll just have to make do with what we have. The turtle shell was a good idea, too. But aren't they endangered?"

"I hadn't thought of that, but it's not like we'd be hunting them en masse, just if we found a shell we'd use it."

Scully nods, "Fair enough." Their eyes meet again as they both think the same thing: This is kind of fun!

They find a spot not too far from the waterfall to start to build their water wheel, where the water was pouring out of the pond into a rivulet of its own. Impaling one of the propellers near the water's edge, they watch the blades turn under the soft current. Both of them brighten at the prospect of this project being a success. They both envision what it will look like once it's done. Scully stands up straighter and dashes back to their house, returning with the coil of rope they had salvaged from the wreck. Looping it around the propellers, she looks to the treetops for a place to hang the second propeller for the other half of the pulley system. She kneels down and starts drawing on the ground with a stick a diagram of what she was hoping to do.

"Sir, look at this. If we had some kind of trench going from here to our house, what do you think of that?"

"Even a channel cut into a plank of wood or a hollow branch would do the trick. Then it could just spill down into…whatever. I'd still like a way to stop it if we wanted to."

"We'll work on that once it's up and running. Maybe if we dug some kind of a moat or something around our trees. It would be good irrigation at least."

"Yeah, and keep the dragons out," Skinner jokes. "Why couldn't I have had a fort like this when I was a kid? This is shaping up to be something excellent."

"We never stayed in one place long enough to build a tree house anywhere I lived. I always read about them, my classmates all seemed to make them with their dads. I mean, if he could have he probably would have. He just had more important things to attend to than climbing trees with his kids."

"Well, that's life evening things out for us. We'll have the tree house our parents didn't want us to have." His tone of lighthearted defiance makes Scully laugh. Just because they're both grown up, it doesn't make deliberately disobeying their parents any less fun, even parents that have since passed on. Shimmying up a coconut tree with the other end of the loop, Scully spies a perfect spot for it. There's a tree nearby that has sturdy-looking branches that should be strong enough to support the weight of the propeller.

"Hey Scully! How do you plan to get the other one up there?"

"Well, I could use a hand," she calls down to him.

"Don't count on it," Skinner dissuades her.

Scully huffs, "I can't do it alone. Are you afraid of heights or something?"

Skinner stammers nervously, "No, but I just haven't exactly done this recently."

"Oh, and I have? I kicked the habit when I was in grade school, and I managed to get back into the swing of it. Come on, they're heavy! They probably weigh as much as I do."

"That's not too much," Skinner says, getting an approving look from his friend.

"Then come on, 'fraidy cat. Time to get out from behind that desk, remember?"

Skinner puts his hands on his hips, "'fraidy cat? Now listen here, I resent that remark!"

"Prove me wrong! If I can do it, you can. Trust me," Scully replies.

Grumbling the whole time, he circles a knot of trees in the vicinity and makes a few false starts, falling back down before he got both feet off the ground. "I can't see how you ever got up this thing, there's nothing to hold onto!"

Scully leans over from her perch to watch his progress. Finally, she marks the place she wants the propeller to go and wrests the rope from its place around the bottom pulley. Making it fast to the branch she had in mind for the propeller, she drops the end down for her boss to pull himself up by. "Tie that around your waist, sir, it'll hold!"

Skinner gratefully obeys, feeling instantly better about this attempt. Just knowing there was a safety line to catch him made him less nervous about going up. The rope strains a little under the combined weight of Skinner and the propeller, but it doesn't fray or break.

Once he gets near enough to her, she reaches out and grabs her side of the propeller. Straining slightly, they mount it where it belongs. "Nice of you to turn up," she quips.

Grimacing at her bad joke, Skinner unfastens the rope from his waist and wraps it around the propeller. Then they drop the ends down and they dangle near its base, waiting to be tied together. Without another word, Scully begins her descent back to the ground. Looking down dejectedly, thinking of the time and effort it took him to get that far, Skinner scoots down close behind her.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Not exactly my favorite pastime, but I didn't die so that's saying something."

Scully does the honors of tying the ends of the rope together, and they're both rewarded for their efforts when it succeeds in turning both wheels. They both stare, mouths hanging open, in sheer wonder at what they'd accomplished in such short a time. It doesn't snag or catch on anything, it keeps turning like clockwork, steadily with the current.

"All we need now is the shells and the trench!" Scully exclaims.

"I've got to admit, I never would've thought of that on my own. Good work, Agent Scully." He pats her on the back and pulls her close, his arm around her shoulders.

"Thank you, sir. It was a team effort, though. I couldn't have gotten those parts from the plane by myself."

"Good thing we crashed together, huh?"

While Skinner hadn't meant anything by this remark, Scully's eyes darken and she pushes away from him with a sigh. He lets her get a head start before following her to their shelter. He finds her in bed, in the same position he found her in that morning. He had hoped to bolster her spirits with his offhand comment, it seems all he had done was remind her how precarious their situation was, how alone and secluded they were, and how far they are from home. "Scully…I'm sorry." He offers lamely, unsure how to handle his moody fellow castaway. She rolls over and faces away from him, her mind is obviously elsewhere. He lets her have her way this time, pats her shoulder and goes back down the ladder. He sits in their 'front yard', keeping a silent vigil while he waits for her to snap out of it. As the day progresses and she makes no move to emerge, Skinner starts to worry. Figuring she might be hungry again, he smashes a few coconuts open, and has the good fortune to have cracked them into nearly perfect halves, to be used in the water wheel. He scoops the flesh from both into one half-shell, and mashes in a banana and a papaya with a smooth stone. He spots the duffle bag on the ground near the base of the tree, where Scully had cast it when she fetched the rope. He finds the knife and a largish stick and starts whittling. When he's done he has a perfectly serviceable spoon. He sticks it in the coconut bowl and climbs back up the ladder. Sure enough, she's still asleep, or spaced out, or whatever she wanted to call it. She looks kind of frightening, staring blankly at the wall, it gives him the creeps.

"Scully? Here, eat this." He holds the shell out to her.

She shakes her head weakly, "I'm not hungry."

"Well, when you are, it's here. All right?"

She shrugs disinterestedly. Scully doesn't budge for the rest of the day, drifting in and out of sleep. Every now and then, she thinks of talking to Skinner, but despite their situation and their more familiar interactions as of late, he still isn't someone she feels comfortable telling her troubles to. She'd feel silly whining to him that she's homesick and lonely. A restless feeling gnaws at her brain, making her feel helpless and disconnected from the world at large. Scully clutches her cell phone, although they're no where near a tower, she clings to her only connection to her partner she feels she has left. Just cradling it next to her ear has some share of comfort, she almost expects to hear his voice issuing from it.


	8. The Darkest Hour is Just before Dawn

This goes on for several days, each day Skinner coaxes her to eat something, but he can tell she's starting to lose weight even within that week.

Day six of Scully's catatonic state, Skinner props her up by her back, holding a dish of oysters in coconut milk. This gets the biggest reaction he'd seen from her in days. She knocks it out of his hand and lashes out at him: "I hate coconuts and _I hate you!!!_" Throwing herself back down on her bed she screams into the cushion. "I want to go home! I can't…I can't…" she sobs incomprehensibly.

Skinner takes off his glasses and sits down next to her. "I know, Scully. I know."

"I miss Mulder," she moans, her face still buried.

"I know that, too."

"You don't understand," Scully whines through a fresh flood of tears, "I wish I'd never gone up in that stupid plane. I never got to tell him! I never got to tell him anything. He's my best friend, I don't even know if he knew that!" She looks over at him, her face streaked white with the salty residue of tears, "He's my…he's…" she stammers, clutching her heart. She's quiet for a moment, considering. "I don't hate you," she sighs, sounding miserable and weary.

Skinner listens sympathetically. Scully has all the signs of a grieving young widow, bereft of her love. What makes it worse for her is that she's mourning a might-have-been, a lost chance. He knows there's more to it than what she's saying out loud, but it's a start. At least she's speaking to him again. He brushes her cheek, "Well, for what it's worth, I don't hate you either."

"You should. I don't see why you didn't just kick me out of the tree. I've been such a bitch."

"No, you're not. You're just sick, that's all. I can't hate you for being sick."

"I'm fine," Scully protests shortly, rolling over to stare at the ceiling.

Anticipating immediate retribution, Skinner takes her hand between his, giving it a squeeze. "You're homesick…heartsick…what you're going through is real. I just want you to know I'm still here, I care about you, and I want you to get well again soon."

Breathing heavily, as though each breath is costing her serious effort, she forces out, "I'm sorry. But I don't think I can do this. What's the point?" She closes her eyes and drifts back into restless sleep.

Skinner sighs, disappointed by the lack of progress but thankful that she'd at least spoken to him, he goes back down the ladder. He wanders back to the beach to watch the sun set. He looks down, and finds by his feet a vast array of minute shells. Some were smaller than his fingernail. He stirs a handful of them with his finger, slowly getting an idea.

He returns to the house with his shirt filled with the tiny shells. He gently shakes Scully awake and she glowers at him testily. "What?"

"Look, Scully, this might help. Any time you think of Mulder, you can string a shell onto this thread. You could make a bracelet or a necklace or something, with thoughts of him." He hands her a spool of hemp thread that he'd spun during their mutual isolation of the past week.

Surprisingly, this idea brings a smile to her face. Choking back a sob, she takes a handful of shells, running her finger through them reverently. "How did you make this?" she asks, unwinding a length of thread.

"Trial and error, really. It's kind of interesting, learning how our ancestors must've lived…kind of. I wanted you to be up to christen the water wheel, though."

"Is that ready, too?" She gazes at him with unmasked astonishment.

"All set. I just thought you should be present when it starts up since it was your idea." Skinner almost gets tears in his eyes at the sight of her actually smiling.

"Sir, this is…I'm impressed! You're like the Professor or something," she twists the thread in her fingers, stringing on a shell and making a knot around it. She strokes it between her fingers, as if by thinking on it hard enough it will somehow connect her to her partner. She slips a few more on, touching each one as though it was sacrosanct. Scully is calmed at the feel of them in her fingers, strangely reminiscent of rosary beads.

XXX

Skinner's intention had been to give her something semi-constructive to do with her thoughts of home, rather than letting them turn inward and poison her, but he soon realizes that he had merely given her a compulsion, a physical manifestation of her obsession. Four days after he gave her the shells, there are dozens of filled strings and her supply is nearly out. She hasn't worn them as he had suggested, which was sort of the purpose in the first place. He thought that perhaps if she would make something pretty for herself, she would feel better, but the long strings of shells were just piling up near her bed.

True, it did some good. She was up and about a little more each day, and it seemed as though they were friends again. She seemed very happy that he'd finished the water wheel. On the day they'd put the finishing touches on it and started it up, Scully sees a small pile of unused coconut shells. She picks up a half in each hand, looking at them carefully, a small smile creeping onto her face.

"Sorry, sir, but Mulder would never speak to me again if he knew I'd passed up this opportunity." Not giving him a chance to respond, she stands and begins skipping around the clearing, clicking the coconut halves together, as Skinner watches in disbelief.

"You're right," he allows, "He'd never have forgiven you for that."

When she feels as if she's done her part to uphold "propriety", Scully stops, tosses the shells down and brushes her hands off.

On the way back to the tree-house, Scully discovers that Skinner had even kept his promise and found a turtle shell for it to pour into. Now they can wash and drink without leaving the tree-house. Situating it next to the window facing the water spout, the castaways now have something resembling a proper sink. Together, they even fix up a fireplace in the middle of the room using scraps from the hull and a lot of hauled sand. They keep it burning low for the most part, they don't need the heat, but they both appreciate the light from it on dark, cloudy days.

Then late one night, Skinner is ripped from his sleep by Scully's frantic screaming! She's screaming as though she was in mortal peril, making the most terrifying sound he'd ever heard. Soon the singular screeching gives way to words:

"Help me! Mulder, help me! Where am I? Where'd you go? Help me! Mulder!"

Skinner kneels in front of her on her bed and takes her hands. Her eyes are open wide and wild, as though they behold hellish visions. Her screams are so desperate they're barely human.

"Scully, Scully, wake up! Wake up, you're fine." He reaches over with a branch and stirs the fire to life, giving them both light to see by. "It's all right, you're safe."

Gradually, she seems to come out of it, her episode is passed. She looks around in bewilderment, surprised to find she's sitting up. She touches her face, damp with tears and cold sweat, and then realizes that Skinner is sitting in front of her. "You're here," she sighs, "What happened? What's going on?" She looks around at her surroundings, orienting herself. She actually looks relieved. Panting, exhausted by her fit, she lies back down. Skinner does, too, grateful that it was only a nightmare. He hears her murmur a name, and assumes she's talking in her sleep again because he thought he heard her say 'Mulder'. Then he feels a soft bump—she's pushed her bed next to his.

"Walter…hold me."

He opens his arms to her, letting her snuggle in like they did on their first night on the island. Her gentle, restful breathing is music to his ears. He holds her tight, stroking her hair and back, planting a soft kiss on her forehead.

"I love you, Dana."

There's a long silence. Just when Skinner starts to worry that he'd ruined everything again, he sees her smile. Hesitantly at first, as though she still isn't sure what she thinks of him, then it grows with a pleased sigh, looking and sounding peaceful and content for the first time since they'd crashed. She looks up at him, amazed at the warm, soft stirrings she feels for this man. He'd seen her at her absolute worst, and he's promised to stick by her anyway. They'd agreed to take care of each other, should the worst happen and no help arrive. With a contemplative sigh, she hardly dares name the feeling that's blossoming within her. She slips easily into a deep and healing sleep, feeling safe enough to truly rest for the first time since they arrived.

XXX

The next morning, Skinner wakes up to see Scully still curled up securely in his arms. She looks so peaceful, more so than he's seen her ever before. Each breath flows easily in a satisfied sigh. Her eyes flutter open and she smiles up at him, looking too happy to speak. Then her expression changes, she looks shy and uncertain, looking down at their pressed-together bodies and back at his face.

"We didn't," Skinner tells her.

"You held me," she suspires, laying her head against his chest.

"Dana?"

"Yes, Professor?"

"How do you feel?"

"Are you asking if I'm all better? If I'm done being homesick?"

Skinner shakes his head, stroking her back, running fingers through her sleep-tousled hair. "No, I know better than that. And that's all right. But how do you feel?"

"Better. I'm…not miserable. Does that count for something?"

"Loads." Skinner tilts her chin up to look at her. "Is this what you really want? I mean…this?"

Scully nods, "I did a lot of thinking last night before I got back to sleep. About home…about us." She looks at him intently, "I never considered us to be the same sort of person. I remember I used to be kind of scared of you. But then we ended up here and…you're not scary at all. You've been good and kind to me and…my friend. The idea that we could even be friends wasn't an easy one to come to terms with. We've made a great team, though. It's been nice working with you; I've really liked doing our projects together. We made a really nice tree-house and…life here isn't so bad. I'm sorry you had to see me lose it."

"Can I ask you a professional question?"

"Sure."

"In your time in the X-Files, have you ever seen an exorcism?"

Scully laughs, "Are you suggesting that I was possessed?"

"Well, not in the literal demonic kind of way, but…it was like you were taken over. By your despair, hopelessness. It was scary to see you like that."

"I'm sorry I scared you. And last night. What even happened last night? I don't remember much but when I tried to wake up I didn't know where I was, and I was screaming. Then you were there. I knew where I was after that."

"You've seen enough horrors in your career to make anyone scream in the night. Must've been one hell of a dream. Do you remember anything?"

Scully looks up at him, touches his face, remembering what had frightened her so badly last night. "I was alone. I was all alone in…I don't know, a void or something…I kept screaming and calling but no one would answer me, no one heard me, I was completely alone."

Skinner squeezes her tighter, kissing her hair, she moans pleasurably in response, indulging in being so physically adored. Scully reaches around her back and takes his hand, threading their fingers together and bringing them to her heart. She looks at their interlocked hands. _So we're not an obvious match, I'm done hiding. To be happy one must be willing to take a risk._ She brings their hands to her lips, kissing their linked fingers.

"Are you sure this is what you really want? I'm not Mulder's stunt-double, you know. I'm not just here to fill in."

"I know. I'm sure. This is what I want." As though she's just realized what she just said, Scully brings her hand do her mouth. "Oh god…"

Skinner looks into her face, it's practically horror-struck, and looks thoroughly depressed. "I understand. Look, even if you didn't mean it..."

"I meant it," she whispers, "I meant it, I just…you don't know what a big deal this is. I don't let myself, I never…Oh god! If anyone ever means anything to me they end up getting taken away! I didn't want you to mean anything to me, as long as I kept up the status quo we were safe. I didn't have anything to lose. Now…if I lost you now…"

"Shh, shh, don't fuss. You have nothing to worry about, I'm not going anywhere."

Scully looks at him beseechingly, "Promise?"

"I promise. Now come on, let's get up. I think I know something that might cheer you up a bit."


	9. Discoveries

A few minutes later, they're climbing the rocks leading to their marijuana field. Adding another bundle of leaves to the fire, Scully and Skinner sit down next to it. They even thought ahead and brought snacks: pineapple, oysters and sea urchins, and star fruits.

After Skinner teaches her how to hold it in as long as she can, Scully gets a much better high than last time. They sit together and enjoy the buzz, before turning to serious discussion.

"…and furthermore, I think it's plants like this that proves the existence of God. Know what I mean? If God didn't exist, why would there be a plant that makes great building material, is totally medicinal, and makes…everything seem like it's gonna be okay? You know? Back home there's just so many negative people that just get me down, all trying to keep us quiet, but we're not gonna, right?"

"Right," he agrees, gulping down an oyster. "We're out here for a reason…so they can't get to us. They think we're dead."

"Good! Cause that's…that's how we're going to do it. Wait till they think we can't possibly still be alive, then we take 'em down! " They both laugh over this prospect. "Then they'll leave us alone, with no one out to get us, we could just get away…It's like…like, that movie, where the whole town is a biiiig television studio, and it's _totally_ a metaphor for how it's going to be, but it's already how it is, you know? With everyone watching their every move, people being nasty to each other, it's just not cool…"

Skinner listens to her description with a puzzled expression, "I've never even heard of a movie like that."

"Well it is. And it's a social allegory for…stuff. And it came out _way_ before any of it happened, too. But they get away in the end, the ones who know."

"Wow, that's deep."

Scully scoops the roe from a sea urchin's spiny shell. Licking her fingers, she giggles, "What were we talking about?" Skinner shrugs and shakes his head and they both laugh, leaning into each other. "You're so sweet, Walter, thanks for making me feel better. I'm gonna be fine, we're both gonna be just fine."

They finish up their wake-and-bake picnic and take a look around the area. Some distance from their smoke signal, about a football field away, the mountain's spire reaches up. Its sides are smooth and impassible, so climbing to the very top is out of the question. Still, they take to exploring. If properly tended, their field should provide enough twine, fuel, and pharmaceuticals to last them for years. They circle the rock face when they make an important discovery: a cave!

"Hey, Professor! Look what I found!" Scully calls excitedly. "This'll be just what we need during monsoon season."

"Yeah, that's right," he agrees, peering in. "Looks like there's plenty of room in here in case we need to seek shelter." He and Scully both crawl in, imagining what it would be like to weather out a storm in there.

"And it's not far from the house, that'll be handy. We should lay in some provisions, figure out how to smoke fish, dry fruit, that kind of thing. Some storms can last a couple days at a time."

"And that it's so high up will be good in case there's a tidal wave or something." He'd said this so matter-of-factly that Scully looks up at him, her eyebrows raised. "What, like you know any more than I do about this kind of thing? They happen, you see it on the news."

"I know, I know, you're probably right. It just seems strange to be talking about tidal waves, doesn't it? I mean, tornadoes, earthquakes, those kind of thing are pretty normal, but I've never sought shelter from a tidal wave before."

"It's called adapting to the situation. Now we just have to figure out how to preserve some supplies." 

Both of them step back out of the cave into the sunlight, watching the wind play through the trees of their small empire. They sit down in the grass, thankfully upwind from their smoke signal, they want to keep their heads clear while they're trying to figure out this puzzle. "How do you smoke a fish? Indirect heat…something to hold it up…" Scully mutters, looking like she's doing long-division in her head. "Of all the ridiculous…"

Skinner looks thoughtful, "I used to go hunting with my friends when I was in college, over Thanksgiving break especially. Deer, pheasants, all kinds of stuff. We'd smoke the venison over coals, green hickory worked great, and we'd have the meat up on a kind of platform with a cover over it to hold the smoke in but let it out at the same time. I bet the same thing would work here. We can put palm leaves over them, they'd probably give good ventilation, and stack some rocks in on the fire to keep the fish from touching the coals."

Scully looks impressed by his proposal, "That could work. What can I do?"

"I'll need you to catch the fish," he informs her, kissing her temple and standing up. He turns to casually see her reaction, hoping he isn't moving too fast. She merely smiles up at him; she looks almost shy, still not used to someone giving her this kind of attention.

"I'll do my best."

He helps her to her feet and they go back down the rock face. Scully is obviously benefiting from the opportunity to stretch her legs after being confined for so long.

"You know, sir…I mean Walter…we can probably find some useful odds and ends on the shore, whatever the tide brings in."

Skinner reaches the bottom just ahead of her, catching her around the waist and helping her the rest of the way down. "Let's do some shopping then."

They follow the sound of the ocean out to the beach and they take a stroll along the sand. It's then that Skinner notices a distinct change in attitude in his companion, as though through whatever trials she put herself to, whatever personal demons fought for her soul in her darkest hours of the past few weeks, she's now resigned herself to being here. Not so much that she's given up on being rescued, but that she's accepted the change in their circumstances. On a more spiritual level, he would almost say that Agent Scully died last night, leaving Dana in her place. He puts his arm around her shoulders, and they walk close together with an easy gait. There's no rush, they have all the time in the world.

"Where's your purse?"

Scully shrugs, "I left it back at the house, I didn't think I'd need it. Why, do you need something? Oh! I completely forgot! How's your leg?"

"My leg?" Skinner looks puzzled, "Oh, from where I tripped over the coral." Scully nods urgently. "It's fine, it healed up in about a day. It wasn't deep at all." He sees her breathe a sigh of relief.

"I'm so sorry, I forgot all about you. I feel terrible!"

"Now don't beat yourself up, I'm fine. You can barely see where I scraped myself, look." Skinner lifts up his ankle to show her. Only the faintest of marks show where the wound had been, it healed up cleanly with no sign of infection, thanks to her first aid kit. "And I didn't really need anything out of your purse, I was just surprised to see you without it."

"It's kind of heavy and cumbersome to drag around when I'm climbing. It would throw my weight off, probably."

Bumping into her playfully, Skinner remarks, "Well, it is at least 5% of your body weight."

She nudges him right back with a growing smile, feeling very relaxed and pleased that they can joke around together. They used to keep things so formal, even if they saw each other outside of work. One can only stand at attention so long before one sprains something. Even when they knew they're on the same side, they couldn't speak freely in case they were overheard or being watched. And now here they are, able to be open with each other at long last. Scully gazes up at him; in the past she'd never stopped to consider him in a physical sense, she was always too wary of him roasting her heiny, but it was common knowledge even among the dregs that he worked out, despite his sedentary desk job, causing many to wonder what was hidden beneath his impeccably tailored suits. What Scully found wasn't a perfectly chiseled physique, which suited her just fine since she never really went for men like that anyway, but he was firm and well-toned, with just enough residual softness to be flattering. She feels his arm slip down from her shoulders and she catches his hand, feeling a dizzy swooping sensation in the pit of her stomach, and a familiar pulsing ache between her legs. '_It's been too long'_, she thinks with a sigh. She loops her arm around his and cuddles into his shoulder, more for security than anything else.

By now Skinner is used to the touchy-feely side of his former colleague, but he knows better than to push his limits. She's just been through a terrible ordeal, and despite her current visage of well-being, he knows that under the surface she's still emotionally fragile. The last thing she needs now is a fling on the rebound. Skinner has known many women in his time, enough to know that he must handle this situation carefully.

Scully smiles to herself, actually stopping to think about what's happening between them; if someone had told her a month ago that she'd be strolling arm-in-arm with Assistant Director Skinner on a white sand beach, she would've checked them into the psych ward.

Sure enough, they find the beach strewn with debris, only now they see the possibilities that certain articles could offer. Just as it was with the plane, what they would never have looked at twice now holds endless potential. The reality that they may never leave their island is putting them both into the mindset of intense frugality, to make use of whatever they can find. They gather up glass and plastic bottles, sift through various flotsam and jetsam for things they can use.

As they scan the area, Scully draws a deep breath and lets it out in a triumphant "Aha! Oh, I saw it first!"

Skinner spots what has captured Scully's attention and is almost as excited as she is. Having made do without one for the past two weeks, what previously would have been viewed as untouchable refuse is now seen as a prize.

"Hang on, just hang on; I'll get it out," he offers, getting down on his hands and knees and digging it out of the sand. When he stands back up, he holds up a weathered-looking toilet seat, the lid is still even attached!

"Yes! Now, I have some sanitary wipes in my purse, they should kill whatever's lurking on it. This is great, now we can be halfway civilized."

"My thoughts exactly."

"Now all we need is a…you know."

Skinner scratches the back of his head, "A potty, yeah."

Choking back a laugh, Scully grimaces, "Did you have to call it a potty?" The absurdity of it all is nearly too much for her. '_Oh, if the rest of them at the Bureau could see this!'_

Skinner looks like he's thinking the same thing, his expression clearly says "Did I really just say that?" as he walks back up the beach.

In addition to bottles and the toilet seat, they gather up bits of wood, some frayed fishing net, and—

"Hey!" Scully calls, "You're not going to believe this! It's a record!" And sure enough it is. The label has been worn clean off, so there's no way to tell what it is.

Skinner walks over to investigate, taking it out of her hands and blowing it off. It's in surprisingly good shape for having been in the ocean. "Great, now all we need is my grandma's Victrola to play it on.

"I actually think I can rig something up. All we need is some kind of needle, even one of the spines from a sea urchin or a fish bone maybe, and something to project the sound." She wades out into the shallows and comes up with a large conical shell. "Like this."

"All right, who's on spinning duty?"

"Well, that's the real drawback, but this is just a start. We don't even know if it's something we'd want to listen to yet."

"We still need something to spin it on. Do you have a pen in your purse?"

Scully nods, "Sure do. Hang on, I'm going to see what else I can get out here. There are lots of little guys swimming around."

Catching her hand and gently drawing her back, Skinner brushes it off, "We can't live on hermit crabs, let them be."

Scully looks up at him, her expression shy and uncertain again. She looks down at their clasped hands and squeezes a little. _I think I'm in love with my boss,_ she ponders. Guessing her thoughts, Skinner leans in to kiss her, but she dodges it at the last second. She takes in the hurt look on his face and tries to explain. "Slowly…please," she requests, walking past him up the beach. He follows at her heels, not at all sure what just happened.

"I didn't mean--"

"I know, I know you didn't," Scully fills in. "I just…can't yet, you know? Look, imagine that you're in a dark room, and you've been in there for a long time, and you've been trying to get the lights on but nothing works. After a while you get used to the dark, right? It gets to the point that you can see, not the best, but enough to get by. Then imagine that someone suddenly turns the lights on. It would blind you. Right? All that light after being in the dark for so long would be painful, wouldn't it?" Skinner nods, senses where she's going with this. "Turn them up _slowly_," she whispers earnestly.

"Okay," he whispers back, tracing her face, watching her eyes drift blissfully closed.

"That's nice," she affirms. _He must really like playing with my hair,_ she thinks as she feels him run his fingers through it as he pulls her into his arms. "How did this happen?" she asks softly.

"I don't know, but I'm glad it did." He looks down at her, cupping her face in his hand, tracing her cheek with his thumb. Not long ago, the idea of the two of them being like this would've been nothing more than a vivid flight of fancy. He can see why she wants to take it slow, any faster and it would be more than he could even take right now. He nuzzles the top of her head, tracing her hairline with soft kisses.

Scully lets out a satisfied sigh, unsure where to go from here. She's enjoying the attention, but she would never have expected Skinner to be the type a guy to have trouble keeping his hands to himself. Reminding herself how drawn to him she was from the start of their unplanned vacation, she lets him off the hook. _What was it that changed between us? I was never actively attracted to him before we got stranded here. I just never imagined he'd be so…different. So real, so kind… He acted so tough at work, this is a good chance for him to relax a bit. God help me, I'm in love. Don't take him away from me now._ She pushes away from him gently, hoping it doesn't come off as a rejection, just as a signal to stop for now.

Skinner smiles down at her, "Do you normally blush this much or is it just around me?"

"Just around you, I think. I still can't quite wrap my head around what's happening here. I don't even know how to describe it."

"I know just what you mean." He moves away from her, still holding her hand. Her expression is difficult to read, it's a strange mix of bliss and anxiety. On the one hand, she looks pleased with his company, but something in her is holding back, afraid. Too many rejections, too many disappointments and losses in her relatively short life, it's made her very cautious about with whom she entrusts her heart. _Just take it slow, like she wants. There's no need to rush into anything after all. I'm just happy she's feeling better. She's still so delicate, though. Better be careful. Hard to do when someone so beautiful is so openly smitten with me. Have I been staring at her all this time??_ This worried thought shoots through his head, when he realizes that yes, he's been staring, but she's been staring right back. They both catch themselves and turn their gaze straight ahead. The sun is nearly overhead and they're both starting to get hungry. Scully wades out to catch some fish while Skinner sorts through their findings. There's plenty of wood that's drifted to their shore, too wet to make a fire but it's bound to have some use.

From time to time in her fishing venture, Scully looks over at Skinner with an unsuppressed smile. This time, as she throws each one out of the water, Skinner manages to catch them. Using his glasses to start a campfire, he starts cooking them when he hears a shrill shriek.

"Ah!! Kill it, kill it! For god's sakes kill it!"

Skinner looks up, confused, when he sees Scully fling a large crab up the beach, falling short of him by several feet, thankfully. It scuttles up the sand, holding its claws up in a defensive posture. Skinner backs off, wary of getting pinched. He comes across a long branch and whacks the large aquatic insect again and again until it lays motionless. He then spears it and holds it in the fire with the rest of the fish. Looking up at Scully, he has to stop himself from laughing at her startled expression.

"Did he get you?"

Scully nods, sucking her finger and shaking the sting out as she walks up to the fire. "Think those can be roasted like that?"

"We'll give it a try anyway. If not, we can always look for something else. It's lucky we landed on an island that can support life.

"I'm just surprised that we're the only people here. This would be a nice spot for a cruise line," Scully laments. "Good thing we're good company," she adds.

While the fish cook, Scully remembers what Skinner had said several days ago about salt deposits from the ocean, and sets out to find some. Leaving Skinner to keep watch over the fire, she climbs up on the rocks near the shore. Every few seconds, she looks back, making sure she isn't out of sight in case she ends up needing help. Skinner looks up at her and waves, she waves back, nearly losing her balance as she changes her grip. He jumps to his feet but calms down again after he sees she's recovered herself. Soon she's climbing back down with a flat stone about the size of her hand. When she lays it on the sand between them, he sees it's coated in a patina of coarse sea salt. Scully takes the crab, now a bright red, out of the fire and cracks into its shell with a rock. Scraping some of the salt onto the meat, she sucks it out of the claw with a look of triumph.

"There's something satisfying in getting to eat something that attacked you, isn't there?" Skinner smirks over at her.

"Survival of the fittest," Scully agrees, cracking off another leg and offering it to him.


	10. New Skills

Another week passes, and Scully and Skinner are falling into a routine: wake up, take a dip in the pool, pick fruit and fish. After this long on such a diet, they both long for something more substantial, and their weight loss is becoming more pronounced. During their daily explorations through the jungle, they see signs of larger game: herds of goats and wild boar run freely over the island, and the sky is full of the cries of seagulls and albatross. It wouldn't do to waste their one clip of ammo on hunting, especially when it would be so easy to miss. It's not like they can buy more when they run out. They take turns carrying it during their treks through the jungle, in case it was needed for self-defense.

The challenge of cobbling together a makeshift record-player, and other such projects, kept their days from becoming too monotonous. After finally getting together the right combination of weights and pulleys to spin the platform (a sheet of bark covered in the plane's carpet), they're both somewhat pleasantly surprised to find that they now have "Abba's Greatest Hits". It seemed fitting, it was something they could listen to (or dance to, when the mood struck), but both agreed that it was pretty likely to have been thrown overboard by an irate cruise ship passenger. Figuring one man's junk is another man's treasure, and regardless of either of their personal taste in music, they're both grateful to have something to break the perpetual silence of their solitary existence.

"Good thing I saw this on 'Mister Wizard' when I was a kid. You know, I barely hear the skips and pops anymore," Scully remarks one day as she stops tidying up the house to start it up, pausing to watch the intricate system they'd devised to avoid perpetual cranking. Now they only have to adjust the weights like a cuckoo clock every few tracks. It takes a minute to get up enough speed

"That's vinyl, it's priceless," Skinner agrees. "Not exactly what I would've picked, but it's not bad." He puts the needle down and after a few scratchy starts it seems to catch

"My mom had a lot of their records when we were younger. I remember Missy and I would put it on and dance around the house. Even better, my mom never threw away any of her old bridesmaid dresses, so sometimes we'd…" Scully trails off with a sigh. 'Dancing Queen' starts up with a piano flair, "This is the one, this was our favorite." Looking guiltily up at Skinner, a little embarrassed by her childhood memories, she tries to wave it aside. "It's nothing."

"That's got to be the cutest story I've ever heard," Skinner replies, imagining how the scene must've played out: Scully and her sister in gaudy taffeta bridesmaid dresses, frolicking around to equally gaudy disco music. "I'll never get tired of hearing about you."

This brings a smirk to Scully's face, as she hangs up her clothes by the fireplace to dry. Neither of them had been what they used to call fully dressed since they crashed. After enduring the heat for a short while, moaning at how expensive his clothes had been, Skinner finally makes himself cut his pants off at the knee. Scully, on the other hand, chose to keep her clothes intact, but is more often than not seen in nothing but her underwear and maybe her blouse. She may slip into her jacket and skirt when it's raining, but she mainly uses the remainder of her outfit to carry things.

One inconvenience that Scully faces is dealing with 'female problems'. The first time it happened, she woke up with a look of disgusted realization, bemoaning the fact that she hadn't come prepared for it. Skinner found her sitting in a patch of stained sand, in obvious discomfort but not saying a word. There's not much to do but wait it out. Determined not to be caught unawares next month, Scully is sure to find a solution before then.

Another project Scully had started both for practicality and to pass the time was to construct a weaving loom. The finished product is a little larger than a shoebox, about two feet long and a foot wide, a basic hollow frame with combs of spiny fish bones on either end. It's strung with hemp thread that they take turns spinning a little every day. Using this new gadget, Scully has been making a screen canopy for their bed to keep the bugs out. While Skinner had scoffed at the suggested necessity of such a thing, Scully pointed out that their choices are a) either make a canopy or individual screens for the windows and door; and b) scrap the whole thing and enjoy the malaria. This changed his mind pretty quickly. They already have close to a yard of loosely woven fabric. As it was with making the walls to the house, Scully finds a strange measure of satisfaction in performing this task.

Skinner looks into her lap and sure enough, she's working at it again. "How did you know how to do that? Any Amish in your family?" He adorns a stout branch with a sharp rock, his first attempt to make a spear. If he could get close enough to thrust it into a boar or a goat, they could have food enough to last for days.

Rolling her eyes with a slight scowl, Scully shakes her head, "No, but I had something like this when I was little, a bead loom. I'd make friendship bracelets with it, necklaces, that kind of thing. I'd sell them at school sometimes, even entered some in the fair. Got a blue ribbon when I was 12. That was a good day.

"If we could figure out how to dye it, we could make clothes or something."

Scully stops for a moment, flexing her stiff fingers, "I don't know if I'm up to something that intricate. I've never made clothes before."

"Really? Little miss blue-ribbon never learned to sew?"

Giving him a friendly swat, she turns back to her loom, "I made an apron once and a vest in Home Ec. Both looked terrible. Besides, can you imagine how long it would take to make enough fabric for something like that?"

"Well, I wasn't exactly envisioning a 3-piece suit, you know. And I'm willing to help out."

"I don't think we'd want to wear this stuff anyway," Scully remarks, feeling the coarse material between her fingers, "it would be awfully itchy, like burlap. Besides, we don't wear clothes anymore anyway. It would be too heavy. It's hard enough beating the heat as it is." She rubs her forehead with the back of her hand, brushing her sweaty hair out of her face.

Skinner watches her weave for another minute; she's looking a bit pinker than usual. While he had already become tanned from the sun, with her fair complexion she only freckled and burned, leaving her more vulnerable to the sun than he is. He goes to the sink and fills a coconut shell with water for her. He'd scraped off the brown hair from the outsides of several shells, not only would it make great kindling for the fireplace, it made a smoother cup to drink from. Scully gratefully accepts it, pouring some over her head after taking a sip. They'd been on their island for several weeks now, both of them remain hopeful that they will eventually build up a tolerance for the heat. All they can do is drink plenty of water, take regular swims, and stay indoors when the sun is overhead. Luckily, neither of them has gotten seriously ill with heat stroke yet, but they carefully plan any strenuous activity for cooler, rainy days when they can afford it.

As her fingers glide over her loom, coaxing form and function onto discord, Skinner never gets tired of watching her. She nudges her glasses up as they slide down her sweaty face, rubbing her eyes in attempt to focus better. After she does this a few times, he wordlessly takes her glasses away from her and holds them in the sink to clean them. Figuring his could use a polish as well he throws his in with hers. Drying both sets on Scully's blouse that's hung by the fire, he hands one pair back to her. She slips them on and within a few seconds shuts her eyes to avoid a dizzying headache. She whips them off and looks up to see Skinner's similar reaction. Trading with her, he mutters "Sorry, must've gotten them mixed up." Scully takes hers back and blows them off, slips them back on and goes back to business.

XXX

It's amazing how easily the days started to blend together. If it hadn't been for the tiny calendar in Scully's checkbook, they would have lost track of the days altogether. By crossing out each day that they've been there, guessing in some places, they are able to make a close approximation to when it is.

"It's June already," Scully sighs, Xing out May 31 that night. The dim light of their fireplace flickers warmly on the walls and ceiling of their house, casting shadows on their screened-in bed. Despite both of their attraction and affection for each other, they still haven't done anything to drastically change their relationship. They sleep cuddled up together every night, they're not shy about touching each other throughout the day, they may occasionally kiss, but in the back of her mind, Scully is still afraid that intimacy would inevitably lead to abandonment. It's an unconscious decision, but Skinner follows her lead, content to take things slow.

She turns to face him with a strangely contemplative smirk on her face, as though just looking at him amuses her.

"What?"

She shakes her head dismissively. "Nothing," she murmurs, cuddling in close to him.

Skinner runs his fingers through her hair, watching the firelight play golden against the red. Time and again during their exile, he is struck by the idea of how incredibly lucky he is. To have survived the storm that brought them here, to have landed on an island so fruitful and lush, to have the opportunity to lie in bed with Dana Scully in his arms every night. For years now he'd contented himself to gaze at her from a safe distance, certain that she would never return his feelings. That she would be just as attracted to him is nothing short of miraculous. He's not vain enough to rush her into admitting feelings for him; if she has grown to love him, it's not something he wants to pester her about. When she feels like coming out and saying it, she will. Both of them are nearly asleep; just before he drifts off, Skinner thinks to himself, when he'd first met Scully, she had a reputation of being hard as nails and cold as ice. To think that this is the woman those words had described, he's certain that whoever had labeled her thusly obviously didn't know her very well. No better than the people who had called her partner 'Spooky'. Spooky and the Ice Queen, he thinks with a mental laugh, sounds like a cheap B movie. Of course, considering what most of their reports read like…

Scully's thoughts before falling asleep are less complicated, but no less significant. The thought that always brings a smile to her face is the seemingly ludicrous couple that she and Skinner made. She feels him playing with her hair, a usual fascination of his which she enjoys as much as he does. Whenever she stops and thinks about it, how happy she's been, with Walter Skinner of all people…_I never would've seen this coming. I never thought he'd be the one, never in a million years. Once in a while, though, life can hand out some nice surprises. What a nice surprise._

She feels his hands slide over her body, pulling her into the curve of his own. She responds with a soft pleasurable moan, wishing she wasn't such a coward.

The next morning, Scully arises early, grabbing one of the spears that Skinner had just finished perfecting. She tests the hand-chipped spearhead with her thumb with an approving look as she draws blood. Hoping it would offer some camouflage, she slips into her navy blue skirt and jacket, tucking her gun and their knife into her waistband for backup. Making her way into the jungle, she steps carefully, silently. Despite their relatively brief stay on the island, they've both learned a lot about the jungle, how to survive, most of all how to avoid becoming prey. Scully hefts the spear in her hand, hoping that today she may graduate up to predator. After a good hour of creeping through the undergrowth, Skinner spots her from above as he gathers bananas on a hill. He still leaves the tall trees to Scully, but he's been known to tackle the more stunted varieties, as long as he stays near the ground. Avidly watching her progress, and determined not to startle her and alert any possible targets, he follows silently behind her.

A few minutes pass, she happens to glance back and narrowly stops herself from gasping aloud when she sees him nearly at her heels. Instead, she flashes him an annoyed look, visually scolding him for scaring her, and gestures for him to get further back.

Soon, they both hear hooves trotting along just ahead, more than one set by the sound of it. Making an unnecessary gesture for silence, Scully holds her breath and steps out into the clearing. Two grown wild boar are drinking at a stream. When one has had its fill, it starts to make its way deeper into the jungle, leaving its companion behind. Spotting her opportunity, Scully jumps out, brandishing her spear. Too late does she realize that this was a bad idea; the boar sees her, and charges in a fit of rage. Skinner had retreated several yards behind her, and Scully remains frozen to the spot, unable to take refuge in the trees. Knowing that those curved tusks could gore her to death before she could blink, Scully instinctively lowers her spear and charges towards her quarry. Fueled by adrenaline, she's immune to fear, and her spear finds its mark in the boar's eye. Punctuating her hit with a wild scream, she pulls out her gun and shoots the beast in the head, just to make sure.

Panting heavily, she yanks her spear out from the boar's head, and stands there in a growing pool of blood. "I did it," she whispers, unable to believe that it was over so quickly. "Walter!" She turns around to call for him again when he's right behind her!

Having heard the scream and the gunshot, he assumed the very worst, but is relieved when he finds his fellow castaway in a primal state of jubilation. "Wow, look at the size of that one!" He looks from Scully to the boar, and back again. Then he sees the 12 inches of bloodied spear lying on the ground. "God, you must've run him through straight to his brain! Wow, that's amazing!" Putting his arm around Scully's shoulders, he raises the question: "Now what?"

Scully is way ahead of him, casting aside her jacket and kneeling down next to the carcass, removing their knife from her skirt. Pausing for a moment to gather herself, she speaks in an evenly-measured voice, as though reading from a script.

"Subject is a wild boar, approximately 150-200 pounds, possibly two years of age. Cause of death: brain trauma. I will begin with a Y-incision for internal examination…"

Skinner watches, finding it fitting that she would treat the dressing of a carcass as an autopsy. She removes the internal organs with no trace of squeamishness, having done this sort of thing about a hundred times before. In medical school, the similarities in human and porcine anatomies were brought up several times in lecture as well as labs, leaving Scully with a semi-familiar landscape in which to work. What strikes Skinner as unusual is how cool-headed she is, elbow-deep in pig guts. She rinses the organs out, picking off yellowish bits and other undesirable parts until they're clean.

"Banana leaves," she orders, barely giving Skinner a glance. He obeys, fetching her a bundle of them. She wraps the liver, heart and kidneys in the leaves, and, strangely enough, fills the stomach with the animal's blood before it all pours out onto the ground. With a look of cool intrigue, she unravels the intestines, cleans them out, and packs them in leaves as well.

"Now, to get it all back to the house," she mutters, washing her hands in the stream, wiping them dry on her skirt. Deftly packing the organs back into the empty cavity she takes the hind legs and begins the task of dragging it. Skinner springs into action then and helps. After dragging it a few feet, Skinner consents to lift and carry it some of the way. Life on the island has toughened both of them up, the days spent swimming and climbing have toned up their arms and legs, enabling them to move such a sizeable creature without killing themselves. After they get it in the door, Scully drops her half of it on the floor with a satisfied whoop.

"Woo! How about that? Look at this! Huh?"

"You're incredible," Skinner says, looking about ready to burst with pride for her. Scully grins back, laughing with unbridled excitement. "You're…you're a hunter."

"I am, aren't I?"

Skinner kneels down next to the animal's head, takes his favorite hammer stone from a shelf and knocks out one of the tusks. Winding it thickly with thread, he ties it in a secure knot and ties it into another wide loop, which he drapes around Scully's neck. They both look unnaturally solemn at this impromptu ceremony, recognizing the weight of the occasion. Skinner isn't done; crouching back to the boar, he dips his fingers in its blood and smears this across Scully's forehead. "You're a hunter now," he repeats.

Together, they fabricate the boar. Skinner had spent some time trying to make crude hand tools with the stones from the waterfall. They seemed sturdy, and held a good edge, so it was with these hand-axes that they cut the legs and head away from the torso, this time relying on Skinner's knowledge of such things. Scully may have been in her comfort zone when it came to dealing with internal organs, but she'd never come close to butchering an animal before in her life. Using the joints as guides, they separate it into manageable cuts.

"We can eat some of it fresh and smoke the rest. This should last us for a long time!" Skinner exclaims, pleased by their sudden windfall.

"I saved the blood to make black pudding, a kind of sausage my grandma used to make." When Skinner gives her a rather appalled look at this, she huffs: "We're Irish."

"Ah," he nods, refraining from further comment.

That night they feast on roast pork, seasoned with sea salt and peppery hibiscus blossoms. Rounding out their meal is a mixture of mashed breadfruit and bananas, shaped into patties and cooked in the drippings. This is the first meal they've had on the island that they've felt truly civilized.


	11. Adapting

The next few weeks are nothing but rain, giving them just the excuse they need to stay inside and smoke their boar. Soon they have plenty of preserved meat to last them through monsoon season. After nearly three months of living on nothing but fruit and seafood, this is just what they needed, and they feel quite luxurious. Gleaning half-remembered instructions and bits of information from books they'd read long ago, they effectively if inexpertly smoke the meat and cut the belly into bacon. This project astounded Skinner, who was heard muttering, "So that's where it comes from." They let nothing go to waste. Even the pelt, which is coarse and unwearable, is used to reinforce the roof by stretching it under the layers of branches and leaves, making certain that it will hold. Although neither of them has eaten organ meat before, they soon get over their initial prejudice against it. Of course, not every experiment is a success…

"Feeling brave?" Skinner asks on his scheduled cooking day.

"Uh, how brave do you mean?" Scully warily replies.

"How about a batch of ears & trotters?"

Looking very green around the gills, Scully just stares at him, unable to respond to such a suggestion.

"_You_ made me eat 'black pudding', need I remind you!"

"Yes, and you liked it!" The fact that she had managed such a near facsimile to what her old-world Irish grandmother had made still astounds her. Sure, they've had to use different ingredients, but the essentials remained the same. That she and Skinner had found it palatable was miraculous. In her 'previous life', she would never have touched the stuff; it's not exactly a health food. Here, on the other hand, she admits it's good to be bad sometimes.

"Well, how do you know you won't like this?" Skinner defends himself.

"Have you ever had it before?"

Here, Skinner falters, admitting, "No, but I've heard of it. And you're the one who says it's so important that we use everything."

"I'm not eating pig's feet," she clearly denies. "I'll never be that hungry."

"Famous last words," Skinner retorts. Sure enough, by supper time she is indeed 'that hungry'. Making faces the whole time leading up to it, acting as though it might turn out to be poison, they both take the plunge.

Forcing himself to swallow, Skinner shudders, "Let's never speak of this again."

"I'll just be happy if you never _make_ this again."

"Maybe I just didn't cook it right. They made it sound decent on the cooking channel."

"Those shows are intended to be food porn; they can make anything look good."

"Like I said, we never speak of it again."

Soon, storm season begins in earnest, bringing with it anxiety and uncertainty. Most days are now spent making preparations, reinforcing every inch of their home against the coming winds and rain, as well as defining emergency procedures in case they get separated or injured. For a few rare sunny days they cut up fruits and leave them to dry in the sun, to save them for when they can't get out. The first time a storm came near their house, they panicked and made sure everything in the house was tied down tightly. After bracing themselves for the worst of it, they were able to laugh about it the next day when everything was still in one piece. They'd made it through, and after Scully brings down a goat at the end of the month, they both have the same contented feeling of a home after a bountiful harvest. They still go fishing every day they can get out, not wanting to deplete their store of preserved meat, but they both feel like the pressure is off, now that they have backup.

The day after her second kill, Scully is surprised to find that Skinner had taken care of the carcass for her. She sees the horns and some of the bones on his workbench, waiting to be made into tools, and sees strips of meat drying on a line by the fire like so much laundry. This leaves her to wonder what he'd done with the fur, certainly he wouldn't have thrown it out. Figuring that maybe the butchering process had spoiled it too much to be of any further use, Scully puts it out of her mind.

Unbeknownst to her, Skinner is in a secluded part of the jungle, away from their usual hunting and hiking spots. Over the next few days, he works on his project in secret, determined to make something to show his appreciation to his excellent provider.

The day finally comes, everything is ready. After their usual morning walk on the beach, Skinner asks her to wait up for him, doubles back to his secret spot and from there goes back to the tree-house. When he returns to her, she's curious what he's up to, but refrains from asking questions. When they get back to the house together, the first thing she notices is the horns mounted on the wall, giving the place the feel of a hunting lodge. Then she sees what's hung on them: a goatskin halter top and skirt. He'd left enough of the black and white fur on it to serve as decorative accents, but not so much that it would be heavy. Relishing the awestruck look on Scully's face as she examines her new outfit, rubbing the soft fur and leather between her fingers, neither of them knows what to say for several minutes.

"When we get another, I'll see if I can make you a jacket," he suggests.

"It's beautiful," Scully sighs, thoroughly admiring his gift.

"There's just a bit more," he tells her, looping a narrow strip of furred goatskin and tying it around her hair, pulling it back away from her face for the first time in months. With the flourish of a sleight-of-hand magician, he tucks a flower into it and pauses to admire the effect.

"How did you do it?" When she sees him hesitate, she raises her eyebrows at him. Her old expression does the trick, and he cracks.

"All right, I…read it in 'Clan of the Cave Bear'. I'm just surprised that it worked. I made a rack and stretched it out on it, and kept scraping it every day to make it soft. I did a halter because it would be easier than a real shirt."

"More practical, too," Scully agrees appreciatively. "It'll be nice to have my arms free without running around naked." She gives Skinner a preemptive swat for what he's thinking.

Scully's weaving loom has proven useful again, and in her spare time she made several reusable 'girl products', as Skinner had distastefully called them. Using the same technique, she's also made pillows for their bed, filled with feathers that they've found throughout their jungle explorations. Sometimes they get lucky and discover entire nests lined with down, which they gladly gather to add to their own home comforts.

As they make their daily sojourns through the jungle, some of the animals have become accustomed to their presence. At first, all signs of life would scatter at the sounds of their footsteps. Now some of the friendlier animals dare approach. On one such stroll, a toucan drops down from its verdant perch and lands right on Scully's shoulder, allowing both humans to stroke its plumage and feed it bits of dried papaya. After that, it became a regular of theirs, eventually even following them back to their tree house to perch in the window. Scully named her Rhea, and from then on they had a pet.

Another part of their daily routine is to scour the beach for usable artifacts that other people had thrown away. By the end of August, they have among other things another toilet seat (for the "guest bath", as Scully suggested), several yards of rope and nets, some boards with nails still stuck in them, even a couple of barrels. They've long since stopped wondering what's going on back home, figuring they probably don't want to know. One of their latest pastimes is building a new addition onto the house. They'd tied together rows of branches like they did for their current living space, and just need to figure out the best place for them to go. By now, even Skinner has become more adept at climbing trees, and he's deciding where they could put the new room. After one such excursion, he drops down onto their deck from the treetops above.

"You know, I've been thinking, if we built it up in that tree over there we'd be able to have something like a watch tower. Flag down ships or planes, anything to make us more visible. We can see the beach from here, but the house is pretty well covered. If we build a bit higher up, we'll have more chance of being spotted."

Scully looks up from doing the wash. "Good idea, plus we shouldn't have too much trouble building a bridge from it back to the main house, with all the stuff that's washed ashore. Maybe we could put in another fire pit to keep burning?"

"Well, that might be a bit much. The more fires we have going around here, the more likely it is that one will get out of control. But we could position windows up there from the plane to reflect the sun. I don't know, I would've thought someone would've sighted us by now." He sinks down onto their bed with a frustrated sigh.

Scully goes over to him and rubs his shoulders. "Don't give up yet. We just have to be patient. Besides, we're doing fine."

Thinking that maybe it would cheer him up, Scully starts up the record player and drags Skinner up by the hands. "Come on, dance with me."

With a half-hearted smile, he complies with her request. It's then that she leans into him and murmurs, "I'm so glad you're here with me."

"What makes you say that?"

"Just…in my 'other life' I know I wasn't very good about telling people things…I don't want to make that mistake here. No guessing, hiding, no trying to be cool. I want you to know that I'm…happy."

From the halting way in which she told him this, Skinner can tell that she's not used to being this direct. It's the closest she's come to saying she loves him. As much as he'd like to hear her say these words, he understands why she's avoiding it. It's almost like inviting disaster. Just that she'd admit to being happy with him means the same to him.

One day, they're out taking a walk along what's becoming a well-worn path through their jungle. It's become their habit for one or both of them to carry a spear whenever they venture far from home. Home…it had taken less than four months for them to think of their tree house as their home… They're not looking for anything specific, they're just enjoying the respite from tropical storms. They hear water running as they draw near a stream. Silently, unseen by the human interlopers, one of the island's original inhabitants slithers through the thick carpet of leaves and fallen branches. Its tongue flickers out, scenting its prey. They would keep him fed for months. One bite and they would never move again. Its thick, man-crushing coils would do the rest. The giant serpent lies in wait, certain of its prey.

It was only by chance that they even spotted it. Skinner had tucked a flower into Scully's hair, and it fluttered out of place onto the ground, landing inches from the snake. They stop dead in their tracks, and with that split-second's warning the snake springs out at them! Skinner whacks it away with the butt of his spear, and spreads his arms out, pushing Scully back out of the way. He corrects his grip on the spear and readies it to strike. The snake coils back, hissing dangerously as it prepares to strike again. It lunges forward, its venomous bite getting blocked again by the spear. Instead, it leaps up and winds around Skinner's legs, bringing him down. It seems like it's all over, when Skinner rolls over and spears it below the head.

"Dana, the knife! Do you have it?"

"No, it's back at the house!"

As he shoves the spear in harder, the snake still struggles, resilient to the end. Skinner feels around until he finds a large rock on the ground and bashes its head in, and isn't content that it's dead until he's hacked its head completely off. Pushing the limp coils away from his body, Skinner stands up and is tackled by Scully.

"Walter, you idiot, you could've been killed! Why didn't you run? It almost got you!"

They cling to each other, both of them shaken by their near miss. After a few minutes they are calmed down enough to take the predator-turned-prey back to the house.

"You know, I hear snake tastes a lot like chicken," Scully suggests mildly as they drag the 8-foot serpent along with them.

"Everything tastes like chicken," Skinner reminds her.

Once they get it home, Scully knocks out the snake's fangs, cleans them to remove any residual venom, and winds them onto a necklace to be Skinner's hunting talisman. She casts him an admiring gaze, mentally replaying his heroic smiting of the foul beast.

"Now you're a hunter, too." She tells him as they kneel down to figure out what to do with the remains. Just as he's about to rip into it, Scully stops him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him deeply, pressing their bodies together, giving him no room to wonder what it is she wants. In that moment, he forgets all about waiting until he's sure she's ready, he forgets that she'd was still on the rebound, that they could be rescued any day and would have to face each other in the office after this, he forgets everything but the fact that he wants her and she wants him. Everything else just disappears. Somehow they manage to get up onto the bed; kissing, caressing, craving each other. Moments later, Scully stops, pausing to catch her breath. It's just long enough to stop Skinner from letting things get out of hand.

"Wait…wait. Just hold it. Look, I want this as much as you do, but…"

"Please…" Scully purrs, struggling to press her body into his. "Stay…please stay…I love you."

"Dana…" he sighs, overjoyed at her confession. "Shh, it's all right. I love you, too. And I'll stay, I'll stay forever, just...I don't want you to regret it." He hugs her tight, nuzzling her hair in the way he knows she likes, tracing soft kisses down her face. "Dana Scully, would you marry me?" he breathes.

"Oh, sir…" she sighs, giggling weakly at herself for her reaction. She tries to pull herself together, sitting up to face him. "Yes, yes!" she gasps blissfully. He takes her hands and guides her up so they're standing together. The both hear a loud squawk and turn to see Rhea perched in the window, surveying them sagely.

Giving their toucan a grin, he turns back to Scully. He takes off his hunting necklace, and although she's unsure way, Scully does the same. "I, Walter, promise to protect you, provide for you, and love you all the days of my life." At these words, he slips his necklace over her head.

Choking back a sob, Scully shakily responds, "I, Dana, promise to protect you, provide for you, and love you all the days of my life." And she gives him her hunting talisman to seal the pact. She strokes the python's fangs that dangle down her chest, remembering that an hour ago they were almost the end of the man who is now her husband. "Oh, Walter, that was beautiful."

Skinner strokes her hair, brushes her cheek, "Beautiful."

Scully gazes up at her husband, all fear of him leaving her is now utterly vanished. She touches the remnant of her first kill; she'd meant every word of their improvised wedding vows. _To provide and protect, always,_ she thinks reverently.

"You know, Walter, it's traditional to dance at a wedding," she reminds him, starting up their record player. Soon their small hut fills with a fitting selection:

_Love me or leave me, make your choice, but believe me_

_ I love you…I do I do I do I do I do…_

Neither of them has much experience in proper dancing, but they both make a decent attempt at a two-step. Abandoning form, Skinner spins her across the floor, delighting in her sudden shriek. He pulls her back in, feeling her drape herself against him. When the song ends, she stops the record player and sits down on the bed, patting next to her with a nervous smile. Knowing what's to come, he eagerly slides in by her side, tenderly kissing her neck as she slips out of her bra. She lies down, he seamlessly follows, gently caressing her lithe form. Over the past few months, they'd inevitably caught glimpses of each other naked, but neither of them had felt at liberty to openly gawk. Now Skinner can't take his eyes off of her, or his hands for that matter. As he slides his hand up her thigh he hears her breathing become heavier in anticipation. His hands creep higher, and she places her hand over his.

"It's been a while."

"I understand."

XXX

It's still dark when Skinner wakes up and looks over at his wife, cast in shadow by their low-burning fire. In the darkness he sees the satisfied smile on her face, with a touch of pride that he'd put it there. Scully rolls over on her other side in her sleep, giving Skinner the opportunity to spoon up with her.

He wraps his arms around her middle, kissing her hair. "I love you," he whispers to her, even though she's fast asleep. She sighs softly in reply, which he takes as 'I love you, too.'


	12. All I Want for Christmas

"Well, that didn't last long," Scully remarks one day in mid-December, squeezing the last drops of shampoo from her bottle. Even limiting their bathing habits and diluting it with water once it got half-empty, their supplies had finally run out. Wringing her hair out and stepping out of the pool, she ties on her halter top and skirt. It has held up well, considering the amateur craftsmanship, and Skinner had time and again remarked that she carries the 'cave girl' look beautifully.

It was lucky that they'd been so frugal with their kills, during monsoon season they were able to do little more than huddle in their emergency cave, living on their preserved stores. Whenever it let up, they'd venture back to their house to do whatever maintenance was needed to undo the damage of the storms, but they'd taken to sleeping in the cave until they were sure the storms had passed. After a series of particularly uncomfortable nights, they both resolve to make some decent sleeping mats with the next goat they manage to kill.

Now the skies are clear again, and things soon return to normal. Scully meets Skinner on the beach, greeting him with a kiss. Together they take their usual morning walk, glad to be out in the sunshine again.

"I checked the calendar today," Skinner mentions, "It's almost Christmas."

"I thought for sure we'd be home by now," Scully sighs, imagining spending the holiday away from home. This information clearly brought her down, coupled with the fact that her mother probably thought she was dead by now. Festive cheer would be thin on the ground for all.

"What's the first thing you want to do when you get home?"

Scully pauses to think about it. "Take a real bath. That would be nice. See Mulder and my mom…I hope they're all right. How about you?"

"Listen to something other than ABBA," he answers, getting a shoulder-bump for that one. "Wear clothes that haven't been torn to shreds, watch TV even if there's nothing on, little stuff like that."

"Yeah." This conversation is getting both of them into a melancholy mood, letting themselves long for the minutiae of their former lives.

"Come on, we need to cheer up about this," Skinner realizes, picking up a plastic bottle and three mismatched flip-flops and handing the footwear to Scully. "Tell me this: what _wouldn't_ you rather be doing? What's all this better than, what _don't_ we miss?"

Scully doesn't hesitate, "Getting a root canal. Being shot," she ticks off, unconsciously bringing a hand to her bullet wound scar.

"Doing my taxes."

"Going to a Bureau retreat," she suggests with a smirk. "Getting sent to the AD's office to 'explain myself'."

"Having to listen to said agent explaining herself. See? It's not so bad. Someone will find us, and when they do we'll probably end up getting homesick for this place."

Scully makes a skeptical noise in her throat, avoiding comment by inspecting the flip-flops that had washed ashore. "When we get back, I'll see if there's a way to boil these so I know they're clean."

"Boil them in what?"

Scully shrugs, looking up as they're coming to their wreck. "Maybe the hull could make something like a big wok, like we talked about before the storms hit. Maybe the storms even did some of the work for us."

Skinner peers ahead as well, nodding. "We could do something like that. The plane's made of what? Aluminum? That should make a decent pan or something we could use." Changing the subject abruptly, he asks, "So, what do you want for Christmas?"

"A ship," she answers.

"Anything else?"

Scully shakes her head, approaching what's left of their plane. The storms had blown it around quite a bit, and it's now on its back, partially driven into the shore. With confidence and agility born from months of rock climbing and trail-blazing, Scully climbs up and stands on the belly of the plane. Contrary to what they'd hopefully predicted, the exposed side of the plane is whole and sound, every seam is still tight and perfect. "Damn," she sighs, trying ineffectively to wedge her fingernails under the sheet metal.

Skinner makes it to the plane as well, and calls up to her, "Don't hurt yourself up there; I'll go get the tool kit from the house. Just sit tight, I'll be right back." He returns a few minutes later with the tool kit and a couple of his stone axes as well. Scully gives him a hand up as he climbs up to join her on the plane. He hands her an axe and they each start at a different end and start hacking away. It's long, hot work, and they take frequent water breaks. Using the various bottles that had washed up on their shore, they lay in a good stockpile of water that they keep in the shade to keep them cool as they work. Skinner also brings in a bundle of banana leaves and vine to make sun hats. Like the first one Scully had made, they're not meant to look good, but it helps them stay out of the sun. After they breach the surface, they start tearing at it as well as hacking at it with their tools. Finally, Scully sits back on her heels and wipes her forehead, fanning herself with her hat as Skinner tugs the last of it out. It's rough and jagged but totally serviceable. He tosses it down onto the beach, and they both hop down to finish it. Skinner finds a large roundish rock on the beach and drops it hard into the middle of the sheet of metal. Scully jumps in to help, lifting up the stone and hammering it into a rough wok shape. The sand underneath it softens the blow so the metal doesn't rip. When it's finished, both of them look amazed that it didn't take long at all to make.

"You know, this is all I want for Christmas. This is nice, and it's useful," Scully appraises.

"So, skip the ship?"

"Well, if you already have one on order I wouldn't refuse."

By now the sun is directly overhead and the temperature is rising, so they head back inland to their pool to cool off. Long ago they had made it theirs, removing any rocks and debris from the bottom to make a proper swimming hole. Scully gets out of the water, climbs up the rock face to the first level, and jumps in. It's not deep enough for diving, but at about five feet it's perfectly safe for a cannonball.

They swim together a bit longer, just bobbing together, splashing around and floating. As has been her habit in the past few months, Scully catches herself staring at Skinner with a mildly amused grin. Skinner has stopped wondering what she's thinking about when she looks at him like that. Figuring it can't be anything too bad, he leaves her to her thoughts. Once they're sufficiently cooled and refreshed, they pick some mangos for a snack. Standing by the water's edge, Scully examines her reflection in the water.

Accurately reading her doleful expression, Skinner slips in behind her. "We've really trimmed down since we got here. Once we get back I bet we'll both need a new wardrobe."

"Are you offering to go shopping with me?" Scully poses.

"Could be fun, as long as you don't start telling me how to dress."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

One project they had just completed to celebrate the end of the rainy season, was to swap out their primitive ladder for a more structurally sound staircase. Skinner had even added a wraparound railing for the deck. When they get upstairs, Scully wastes no time in trying out her new pan. She fills it with water from the sink and puts it directly into the hot coals of their fire. Skinner helpfully adds some more wood. In a few minutes, the pot is bubbling away and she dips the flip-flops in. After 30 seconds they're sterilized and fit to be worn. Luckily, although none of them are from the same set, Scully finds one left and one right and tries them on once they've cooled. She's obviously pleased with them, having gone barefoot since the crash because all she had were her heels.

"Now we just have to wait for another left one to come our way and you can have a set," she remarks. "They probably won't be much good for hunting, slapping against my feet with every step, but they'll be good for plain old everyday wear. Especially out in the water, I won't have to worry about cutting myself on glass or something buried in the sand." She looks up and sees Skinner looking around the room with his hands on his hips.

"You know, we've done all right for ourselves here. Maybe it was meant to happen." He loosely drapes his arms around Scully's shoulders, drawing her in.

"Maybe," she agrees.

XXX

One week later, it's a cool rainy night, and the castaways are draping strings of shells and colorful flowers on a tropical Christmas tree, topped with a starfish. They'd taken a few small palm branches and tied them together into a shape that with a great leap of imagination one could say almost resembles a fir. They build up a good roaring fire, adding to the cozy atmosphere and making it feel more like Christmas. Dinner was braised goat shank, and with her new wok, Scully was able to make a basic sauce for it. Pounding a few strips of dried meat into almost a powder, they reconstitute it in hot water in the pan. Hearts of palm are thrown in for starch. It's far from a traditional Christmas dinner, but somehow it feels like home. After dinner, Skinner stands up, giving his wife a distinct up-to-something look.

"I was saving this, glad you don't go snooping through my pockets," Skinner tells her, going to his suit coat and pulling out a mini-bar sized bottle of rum, splashing a little of it into her shell of coconut milk and crushed pineapple, garnishing it with a bright purple flower from the tree.

Scully takes a sip with a smile, "Where did you get that?"

"I swiped it from the hotel."

"You've had it this whole time?"

Tapping his coconut shell against hers, he kisses her forehead. "Merry Christmas." He hands her a small parcel, which she unfolds to find a comb that he'd chipped out of a seashell.

She kisses him back in gratitude, her expression shadowed by regret. "I didn't get you anything."

Skinner laughs, "That's okay, it's not what this is about. Besides, the malls are murder this time of year. I'd hate to think of you fighting the crowds." Not wasting any time, he sits behind her and gently drags the comb through her hair, happily grooming her.

Playing into his fantasy, Scully agrees, "True, plus everything's so expensive and gimmicky anymore. It's impossible to find anything personal when places just sell those prepackaged gift basket things."

"Yeah, and who needs those? Seriously, I don't want you to feel bad, okay?" Scully nods and finishes her drink, and they migrate to the bed. It's seen some serious overhauls since it began as two airplane seats. First, they made mats of banana leaves filled with palm fronds; then Scully had made the pillows with cloth from her loom, finally a few good hunting trips brought them enough goat furs to make it soft and comfortable. It's unrecognizable from what it started out as, much like anything else they've found and made use of. The fire burns lower, casting the house in sunset colors, putting them both in a romantic mood. Scully traces up his back with a small bundle of feathers tied to a twig, which Skinner grabs at, seizing her wrist and planting a series of searing kisses up her arm. She lies down, feigning submission, and when he positions himself over her, she catches him off-guard, flipping him on his back. Brushing the feathers against his face, she smirks down at him with a teasing giggle.

"I never figured you'd be into this kinky stuff," Skinner remarks, not at all disapproving.

"I had a friend in college who told me 'Kinky isn't feathers, kinky is the whole chicken'." When she sees the puzzled look on his face, she tickles him again and translates. "It means that this is pretty tame. Besides…I'm enjoying you."

Skinner reaches his hands around her and slides them up her skirt, gazing up at her face admiringly. "I'm enjoying you, too."


	13. Impossible?

FBI HEADQUARTERS

November 12, 2001

"Violent Crimes, Agent Mulder speaking…Oh, hey Cassandra. A package? Sure, send it on over. What do you mean 'funny'? Yeah, I'll have a look at it."

A few minutes later, a young woman escorts a member of the Coast Guard into Mulder's office. Without bothering with pleasantries, he sets a worn-looking glass bottle on his desk and leaves without a word. Mulder's name is clearly visible on the paper inside.

"You're right, that _is_ funny," he agrees with his intern's assessment. Picking it up and looking at it from all sides, hardly daring to hope, he opens the bottle and slips out the message. "Impossible," he breathes, carefully unfolding the paper. It's damp and kind of splotchy in places, but he clearly reads:

Dear Mulder,

By the astronomical chance that this actually reaches you, this is to let you know that we're both alive and well. We've been living very comfortably for the last year on an uninhabited island somewhere in the Caribbean (we think). Enclosed is a list of various plant and animal life, hopefully it should give you some clues as to where we are so we can be brought back to civilization.

I don't need to tell you how important it is that you keep this quiet. If certain people are willing to write us off as dead and no longer one of their concerns, I'm in favor of it.

I miss you. There's no way I can adequately describe in a letter how much I miss you. At first it was like losing part of myself. It's funny, I only realize how much a part of me you are when you're not around. I just want you to know that you're the best friend I could have possibly hoped for, I'm not sure if I ever told you that in person.

In general, life here has been good, the food is plentiful and we've built a pretty nice house if I do say so myself. We've even learned how to hunt and fish. Surprised? We sure were. So tell my mother not to worry, we're both perfectly all right. We've been very lucky.

Hope to see you soon

Scully

February 23, 2001

He sets the letter down, glancing at the sheet of plants and animals before skimming the letter again. "They're alive!" Mulder exclaims, "They're on Gilligan's Island but they're alive!"

"Glad to hear it," his intern blandly responds, all too accustomed to her superior's eccentricities to question anything anymore. "Want me to see if you could borrow Mister Howell's yacht?"

Waving her off, Mulder mutters "Very funny." Once he's alone again, he sits down at his computer and starts doing searches, hoping something will tell him where Scully's island is.

XXX

For the fifth time that week, Skinner wakes up alone in bed. When he gets down the stairs, sure enough, he finds Scully halfway in the outhouse. The sounds of her retching break the silence of predawn.

"I'm okay," she groans, not altogether convincingly. "Probably something I ate. Are you sure you haven't felt sick at all these past few days?"

"No, I haven't," Skinner says, his voice low with worry. "Do you think you have a fever?" 

Shaking her head, she runs a hand through her hair, shuddering. "No, I don't think so."

He hands her a cup of water which she gratefully accepts. Squatting down next to her, helping her to sit up, Skinner pulls her into his arms. "Any other symptoms? Aches, disorientation, chills?"

"No, I just can't seem to keep anything down."

Skinner slips his arm under her legs and scoops her up, carrying her back up the stairs to bed. "Still, until this bug has run its course, I want you to stay in bed. I'll take care of everything; I promise, Dana."

"Walter…" she tries to argue, but lacks the energy for it. She has no choice but to allow herself to be tucked back into bed like a child who is too sick to go to school. True to his word, Skinner takes care of all their daily chores. He maintains the water wheel by replacing damaged cups, swapping out hollowed gourd shells for the coconuts for more efficient water-hauling; he tends to their fires and adjusts the reflectors they'd made from the plane windows. On his way back, he picks some breadfruits, since he surmises that they would be gentle on an upset stomach. Nothing too acidic, and certainly no seafood, both of which he is certain would set her off. Before going upstairs, he circles their trees, to where they store their collected beach findings. A plastic drum is just what he's looking for; he cleaves it in half and it's the right size for a basin to keep at her bedside. He sets it down next to her and fills the sink with water. Soaking a rag that had once been part of his pants, he dabs his wife's face with it.

"I feel fine, Walter, not that I don't appreciate the treatment," Scully assures him.

He has none of it. "Sh, shh. Just rest up and we'll see if you can keep breakfast down. Then we'll see." He kisses her forehead and brushes her cheek.

_Funny that I'd get sick like this all of a sudden. I haven't been out in the sun too long, I haven't accidentally swallowed any salt water, or eaten undercooked fish. Why do I feel so lousy?_ Scully ponders sleepily as she watches Skinner put the breadfruits in the fire. Once he does that, he cuddles up next to her in bed.

This routine plays out for another week, Skinner releases Scully from house-arrest, but he insists that she take things easily. What strikes them both as odd is that this ailment had hit her so suddenly, and it was hanging on for so long with no other real symptoms except for fatigue. It wasn't until one day when Scully is puttering around the house, tidying up, when she comes across her homemade feminine products. She stares at them, then checks her calendar. It's been over two months since she's last used them.

"Impossible…" she breathes, looking out the window at Skinner in the front yard. The world around her reels and crashes through space, she sits down on the bed to keep from fainting. She nearly calls down to him, but stops herself. She couldn't bear to get his hopes up only to be disappointed. She'd keep it to herself for now, until she's sure.

XXX

Four weeks later, they're taking their morning walk along the beach, watching the sun rise, when Skinner brings up an old topic. "So, what's the first thing you think you'll do when we get home?"

"I'll probably go back to bed for a little while, start breakfast, work on the suspension bridge to the new addition…"

Skinner looks at her, surprised by her answers. "Dana, I meant-"

Scully interrupts, "I know. I…I _am_ home."

"But you still want to get rescued, right? I mean…you can't honestly be content to live here all alone…"

"I'm not alone."

Rolling his eyes, "I know we've got each other, but…"

"Walter…_I'm_ not alone. I'm not…I can't be. If you turned around right now and went back to the house, I'd still not be alone."

Skinner listens, trying to decrypt what she's trying to tell him. "You don't have voices in your head, do you?" Scully shakes her head. Unable to keep her secret any longer, she gives herself away by placing her hand over her stomach, gently stroking it. As Skinner realizes what this means, he looks like he's about to faint.

"Walter…I think you're going to be a daddy."

He stares at her, but she can tell he's hardly seeing her, "How?"

Shrugging mildly, Scully admits, "I don't know. It isn't supposed to happen, the odds are astronomical, but I guess even a million-to-one chance is still a chance. It's a miracle." Now tears spring to both of their eyes; they stand there, hugging on the beach, Skinner tracing his fingers over Scully's stomach where his child is growing. His child!

He pulls her in for a long, lingering kiss, and when it's over he simply says, "Looks like I need to build a nursery."


	14. Found

May 19, 2002

As the boat nears the island, Mulder sees a plume of smoke, giving him hope that this would be the one, that he's not too late. Of all the thousands of ways that he's played out the scenario in his head, his morbid imagination tends to fixate on the worst possibilities. Finding one or both of them dead, or horribly sick, or out of their minds with island madness…Mulder shakes himself to get the images out of his mind. He sees the remains of their plane with renewed hope—this is the place!-, although unsure what to think of its cannibalized state. He drops anchor out away from the reefs and takes a lifeboat in the rest of the way.

Skinner sees a boat approaching the beach from the top of a coconut tree. Knowing full well that he won't be seen from that distance, he waves his arms in the air with an excited whoop. He climbs down quickly and runs out onto the beach, throwing more palm branches onto the fire as if to emphasize that they're there. He waves excitedly, this time in full view of whoever is on the boat.

Mulder steps out, unable to believe what he's seeing. "Well, Skinner's alive anyway," he mutters to himself just before he gets tackled by the old guy. He struggles to push him off and they both stand again.

"Mulder? Mulder, is that really you? Ha-ha! We're saved! God, she's going to be so happy to see you!" He pulls the other man into a hug and does a little dance around the beach.

"Nice to see you, too, sir," Mulder groans as he pushes him away, rubbing his ribs. "So Scully's okay?"

"She's fine, she's wonderful, just wait till you see her!"

"Where is she?" Mulder asks, peering into the trees behind them.

Skinner shakes his head, waving him off, "She's back at the house, she's in no fit state to be climbing trees, the way she is."

"W-wait, I thought you said she was okay," Mulder stammers, starting to look worried. Skinner doesn't offer any more explanation, but simply leads the way inland.

As he gets nearer their tree-house, Skinner gestures at Mulder to be quiet. "She was sleeping when I left her, she's needed a lot of rest lately. Plus, I think I'd better prepare her for this, I don't want to give her a shock or something."

Mulder hangs back, nodding, "Sure, sure, go right ahead…to where?" Skinner points up, Mulder looks up, and his jaw drops! What had started out as a tiny driftwood superterranian shack is a sprawling multi-roomed palace, stretching from tree to tree, all connected with handmade suspension bridges. He hears the sound of running water, and looks around for the source.

"The water-wheel is a few yards that way," Skinner tells him. "It got tedious going to and from the waterfall every time we needed it. We put it together our first week here." Mulder can't miss the pride in his old boss's voice. But that house…

"Did you do this in your second?" It boggles his imagination, he can't take his eyes off it.

"That took a bit longer, now shush! Follow me, but wait outside until I tell her, okay? I can't believe you're really here! This is…"

Worried that Skinner's going to hug him again, Mulder takes a step back with his hands up. Together they go upstairs and Mulder waits out on the porch. He sees two woven rocking chairs sitting side by side, under the shade of an outcropping of palm branches. Each room of the house has seashell curtains in the windows; Mulder marvels at how long it must've taken to make each one.

Skinner goes into their bedroom and brushes a flower across his wife's cheek. "Dana…sweetheart, time to get up."

"Hmm?" She opens her eyes and immediately squeezes them shut again. "Ugh…there is no Dana, only Zuul," she growls as she buries her head under a pillow in attempt to go back to sleep.

He groans inwardly at her Ghostbusters reference, although he can't help but be amused at how well-placed it had been. Struggling to hide his enthusiasm, Skinner sits down next to her on the bed, running his fingers through her hair. "I have good news for you," he whispers. "We have company."

"Oh, I know about that," Scully yawns, blinking up at him lazily.

"You do?" She nods. "When…?"

"I s-saw'em coming this morning…miles away," she sleepily murmurs.

This doesn't add up. He looks out from their bedroom window and sure enough, he can see both the lifeboat and the larger one that Mulder took out to their island. "But…aren't you happy?"

"Thrilled," she sighs sarcastically, "I mean, it's nice and everything, but they always comes back after the rainy season."

Skinner has to stop himself from smacking his forehead. "Dana, I'm not talking about our toucans, I'm telling you we've been found!"

His words have the desired effect of clearing the cobwebs from her brain, and Scully sits bolt upright, "Found?"

"And that's not all."

"It's not?"

Skinner squeezes her hand, "I'll give you a minute to get out of bed and get ready, then the big surprise!"

Mulder is prowling around the deck, wanting to explore the rest of the 'house' but holding back out of respect for the homeowners. He comes back to the window and hears snatches of their conversation; Skinner just told Scully that they were found. He wishes he could be in there to see the look on her face when she gets the 'big surprise'! Then, the next word he hears hits him like a ton of bricks.

"Walter! You know you shouldn't get me all worked up like this, just tell me."

'_Walter'?_ Mulder thinks, '_my, but they've gotten friendly. And I thought they'd end up killing each other.'_

"Fine, fine, just drag a comb through your hair first, you're looking a little tangled."

Scully sits at the vanity he'd built for her. The mirror was made from one of the plane's windows and a sheet of highly-polished metal. The image is a bit distorted but it's better than nothing. Mulder peers in at her, staring from between the seashell curtains that are filtering his view. Her hair has grown out since he last saw her, past her shoulders, and he's reminded of how long it was when they'd first met. Watching her comb her hair is almost more than he can stand. Getting impatient to be announced, he knocks on the door.

"Fine, fine, come in," Scully calls, getting a hand standing up. She turns around to face their visitor and goes completely ashen. They stare at each other, each one looking as though they'd seen a ghost. "Mulder?" She falters, looking him up and down, expecting it to be a dream or a trick of light. "How…?" She gives an unexpected lurch, staggering on the spot and clutching her abdomen.

But Mulder isn't faring any better with words. '_She's pregnant! That's not possible!' _ He looks around the room, and sure enough in a corner lies an engine cover from the plane that had been refit into a cradle. It's already lined with downy feathers and flower petals. He stares, unable to speak for a full minute. "Scully…wow, you…you're huge!" he ineloquently exclaims, kicking himself for it immediately after.

Far from being insulted, Scully beams at him, crossing her hands over her stomach, "Thank you. I'm…due any day now." It's all so absurd that the best she can do is to pretend that everything is normal. _'Hell, that's how I've dealt with him in the past and it's always worked'_ "But how did you find us?"

He holds up the bottle with the message she'd sent him over a year ago. "You didn't give me much to go on, but I had enough clues to find out where you were. Your mom is going to be so happy when she finds out you're not dead! She didn't want to believe it when I showed her the letter, but hearing from you should do the trick." He holds his cell phone out to her. It's slimmer than his old one, Scully notes as she takes it, it feels strange and unfamiliar in her hand.

"That's ridiculous, we can't get a signal out here. I couldn't when we first arrived, God knows I've tried."

"I have bars. I'll be reamed for roaming fees but-" He's cut off abruptly when she closes the space between them in two steps, falling into his arms and hugging him tightly.

"I'm so glad to see you! I missed you so much!" He holds her for a moment; neither of them can believe that they're finally back together after so long apart. Suddenly she looks tense again, stepping back, "I'll call my mother, if I can get through, let her know I'm safe." It sounds as though she still has doubts about his new phone's reception.

"I'll be right here when you're done."

Scully goes out onto the porch to make her call, neither of them wants to take their eyes off each other. She lets the door drift closed and makes her call, leaving the men alone again. In a moment, they hear Scully and her mother shrieking at each other from 1,000 miles away.

"Mom? Mom, it's me! It's Dana! I'm fine, everything's fine. Yes, I'll be back in DC in…I don't know, a day or two? I still don't even know where 'here' is, so…Yes, he's with me. Oh, yes. Yes, we've definitely been getting along. Mm-hmm. Mom, think you can handle another big surprise? Well, sit back down. Are you sitting down? Well…I don't know how it happened, I mean, I know _how_ it happened, but it shouldn't have been _able_ to happen, to me at least…this is getting us nowhere. Mom, I'm going to have a baby. A baby. Soon! Well, Mom, when a man and a woman love each other very much…yes, I love him…yes, he loves me. We're…we're kind of married. Well, it was officiated by a toucan! We couldn't exactly get a priest out here. Mom, we've been so happy…"

Neither of the men can help overhear Scully's side of the conversation. At the mention of their 'marriage', Mulder notices Skinner clutch something around his neck.

"What's that?" he asks.

"First kill," Skinner mutters, opening his hand to reveal a tusk from a wild boar. He strokes it between his fingers reverently.

"Your first kill?"

Skinner shakes his head, "Hers. We exchanged them when we decided to…when we…" he trails off, unsure of what Mulder thinks of their union.

"Like wedding rings," Mulder fills in; somehow pleased to have found the two of them together. He'd spent the last two years helplessly imagining them in horrific circumstances; to find them both alive was too much good news to dwell on their romantic affairs. In many ways he'd already considered Scully lost to him before they'd even been lost at sea; in true best friend fashion, he's happy that she's happy.

"It means we'll protect and provide for each other," Skinner clarifies. From the look on his face, he doesn't need to describe to Mulder how much he loves his wife. It's plain to be seen from miles away. "She was really broken up when you were separated. But she pulled through, we've been happy together. Really. I don't think I could've made it without her around. You know how they say a man can build a house but it takes a woman to make a home? Well, if she hadn't been here…" he looks around the room at all the homey touches. The running water, the fireplace, the curtains, even the bed. Not to mention the other rooms they'd built on. "None of it would be here; I'd probably have spent the last two years in a lean-to on the beach, if I even survived that long."

"So, is there anything here you'd want to bring with you? We can start taking loads down to the boat," Mulder offers as Scully comes back inside.

"What, so soon?" she asks, surprised that they're getting moved out so quickly. "You just got here. Wouldn't you rather stay the night?"

"Well, I wasn't exactly dropping in just to say hello; this is a rescue mission, I've come to take you away from all…this…" he looks around the marvelous house, the majestic view of the surrounding rain forest, then back at his former partner, who is wearing her old skeptical expression just for him. "You do want to come home with me, right?"

Skinner speaks up, "Oh yeah, definitely, just…I think we'll need a little time." Moving behind his wife, he pulls her in by the shoulders into a backwards hug, "She's just nesting, you know? I don't think we should just pick up and leave just like that." He looks around the room, "For the past two years this has been our home. If we just go now, it will be like it never happened." Scully shows her agreement by turning her head and nuzzling into his collarbone, giving Mulder the distinct impression that they're the type of couple that can't keep their hands off of each other. Her eyes then drift back towards Mulder, her happy expression tinged by the barest hint of guilt, as though she's asking him permission. He senses her need for him to understand, the time they'd spent apart had done nothing to diminish their old telepathy. He nods to show he understands without her having to explain anything. Yes, they'd loved each other, as much as two people can, but neither one had ever taken the opportunity to make their friendship into something more. Even now, neither one dares to actually say the words 'I love you'; both are content just to know.

Even Skinner can tell that something had passed between them, he felt Dana relax in his embrace, all remaining tension melts away in her peaceful moment of closure. He looks between them and clears his throat, "Did you two want a moment alone? I'm going to check the lobster traps. I'll be back in a little bit." When this seems to be a fine idea to the other two, Skinner kisses his wife on the cheek and goes downstairs to see if they'd caught anything.

There's a moment of awkward silence as the former partners regard each other. Mulder is the first to break it. "Looks like you two have done all right."

Scully nods, staring at him with a dreamy expression. "I still can't believe it's really you. I've dreamed of it so many times, I keep thinking I'll just wake up in a minute and you'll be gone."

"I know just how you feel. I was afraid I'd never see you again. Wow, look at you. How…?" He trails off, Scully grins as she gets the gist of what he's asking.

"I don't know. I really don't. It's a miracle. I can't say how happy I was when I found out. Walter-" she cuts herself off, a blush rising to her cheeks as she refers to her husband by his first name. She falters, not sure how she's supposed to continue.

Mulder just smiles and takes her hands, swinging them between them. "I'm happy for you."

"He was thrilled, we can't wait. We've been very happy. I do love him…so much. It's like he's a completely different person than 'Assistant Director Skinner'. Here he's…"

"Your husband," Mulder finishes for her. Scully nods and smiles, looking radiant with a maternal glow, a picture of a woman who is very much in love. Rare was the time that he saw his friend look this happy, it somehow makes their long separation worthwhile, to know that she had been this content and well cared-for. "So, when did you two…?"

"It was gradual. There was a mutual attraction to begin with, but I didn't see the need to rush into anything. I didn't know when we'd be rescued, and I didn't want to start something that we'd just have to cut short as soon as someone found us. Then I went though…a bad patch, that's all I can call it. He stuck with me when I was in pretty rough shape. He…promised never to leave me. That meant a lot. He was willing to wait until I was ready, though. For the longest time he would just hold me, like we used to-" She stops short, remembering the times she and Mulder would cuddle. "Yes, well, then as you can see, we became…closer."

Mulder smirks at her summary, "This house is just incredible. How long did it take you to build it?" He looks around at the decorations, out the windows at the newer additions.

Scully mimics him, her eyes sliding from wall to wall of their tropical home. "This part just took a day, for the basics anyway. Then, we just kept adding on. Whenever we would get bored or find something new on the beach we'd add it into the mix. It ended up kind of hodge-podgy, but it's home. It's hard to imagine leaving it behind. Maybe Walter's right, I _am_ nesting," she sighs.

"I think it's pretty cool. Want to show me the rest of it? Or would you rather wait till he gets back?"

"That would be better. We built it together; we should show it off together. I'm _so_ glad you came on a Saturday, incidentally."

"Oh? Why's that?" Mulder asks, past caring how she has kept such good track of the days of the week.

"Friday night's grooming night." She picks up her toiletries bag to emphasize the point. "Even going easy on it, we ran out of the shampoo and stuff a while ago, but the razor's still okay. We sharpen it every week to keep it from rusting." Slowly, her expression changes. "Do you have…anything like that on your boat?" Her tone is urgent; this obviously was something she missed.

Mulder grins at her eager expression. "Well, I don't have any girly volumizing conditioner or anything, but I packed the basics for the trip. Want me to go out and get it?"

Scully shakes her head, but smiles, "No, but once we shove off…that would be nice."

"You look like you've taken decent care of yourself. God, it's good to see you again." And abandoning all convention, he pulls her in and kisses her, making her blink up at him with a punch-drunk expression.

"It's good to see you, too. Look, I…hope you don't mind… me and Walter…"

"That's just fine, that's great, I'm glad you've made the most of things here."

Scully smiles serenely, "You'd never know what a sweet man he is."

Just then, Skinner comes up the stairs holding a wooden crate of live lobsters. "Well, that's a nice thing to walk into. Here, we've got some real fighters in there. Better do method #2 on them, it'll be faster." He hands the crate over to Scully, as though this was the most natural thing in the world.

_Method #2?_ Mulder thinks, watching them.

It must've made sense to Scully because she doesn't miss a beat. "Right. You fire up the wok and we'll have lunch. Now, what else…" Scully mutters, plunging their knife into the first lobster's head. She looks up at Skinner who just put a deeply dented sheet of metal over the fireplace. He goes to the 'sink' by the window and fills it up, dumping it into the makeshift pan. After a few trips, it's as full as it can be. "You think maybe a…?"

Skinner seems right on track, jumping up to grab at a net hanging from the rafters, filled with stored fruit. "Oh! Like a…with…" He takes down some breadfruits and mangoes, throwing the breadfruits onto the coals.

"Yes," they both say in unison. They smirk at each other before he kneels down next to her as she dispatches the next crustacean. He puts his hand around the back of her head, stroking her hair. She then leans in and kisses him. Not like the hurried smack that Mulder had just planted on her, but a kiss laden with familiarity and comfortable love. Mulder sees then that they know each other inside and out, they hadn't simply turned to each other for the sake of loneliness. They're acting like a real married couple. He's getting to watch them the way they normally are, he almost suspects that they've forgotten he's even there. _How did they learn to cook like that?_ Mulder wonders to himself, watching them dip the lobsters into the hot water.

After several minutes of fussing over lunch plans, Scully finally stands back up, getting a hand from Mulder.

"Oh, thanks," she sighs, rubbing her back. "Another reason I can't wait for the baby to come." When Mulder continues to stare at her, enjoying the view, she tries another tack. "Do you like lobster? If not we can probably find something else, we could dive for oysters or…"

"No, no, that's fine," Mulder assures her.

Now it's Scully's turn to stare at him, "God, I missed you," she whispers, looking close to tears as she looks him up and down, truly processing that his presence here is real. "I missed you so much."

"She did," Skinner agrees. "See those curtains?"

"Yeah? What about them?"

Scully shoots her husband a silencing look, but resigns to coming clean, "I would string shells when I thought of you."

"All this, just when you thought of me?"

"Each shell was a thought. It's how I coped. I made all these in about a week. I tapered off a lot, though, or I wouldn't have known what to do with them all."

_There must be hundreds, thousands!_ Mulder thinks wildly. _She thought of me that much? Well, how much did I think of her over the past two years? _It's then that he realizes that it was mentioned in past-tense. She must've been deeply in love with him at one point, but she'd gotten over him. He wasn't there; and before that he'd never made a genuine overture that wasn't laced with lewdness, sarcasm, or at least pain-killers. And here she ended up getting shipwrecked with another man, a good man who loves her and isn't afraid to be genuine, and so captured her heart. It doesn't take his Oxford education to let him see who the better match was. He hopes that she doesn't know what he's thinking; she looks like she gets the general idea, though. She stands there, fidgeting with her wedding necklace that Skinner had given her. Mulder sees a pair of two inch long curved fangs in the middle and marvels at their hunting skills. If their first kills were a wild boar and a large, possibly poisonous snake, imagine what else they were capable of! This had become normal for them, Mulder realizes as he watches Skinner finish cooking the lobsters.

"Dana, give me a hand over here," Skinner calls out to her. "This isn't a one-person job."

"I know, sorry!" She goes back and helps. They crack open the shells very carefully, trying to preserve the shape as well as they can. They scoop out the meat and pound it in a large bowl they must've scooped out of a tree stump. They mash in the cooked breadfruit and stir in chunks of mango, dash it liberally with sea salt and reshape the sea creatures into their original form. They put them back on the coals for it all to set together for a minute and soon everything is ready. Scully empties out their 'wok' and pours in a generous measure of coconut milk and juicy pineapple pulp, swishing it around the pan until it's reduced to a creamy sauce. Unaware that they had been putting on such an interesting cooking show, each of them acts as though it's just another day. They each take a lobster and a hand-whittled fork and nest it in a deep woven plate. Each of them then pours over a coconut ladleful of sauce and they go out on the porch to eat.

"Oh, Mulder, there are extra dishes on the shelf just above there," Scully calls out.

Highly impressed by the level of comforts that their home offers, Mulder dishes himself up and joins them, halfway between sitting on and leaning against the porch railing. A few pokes get his lobster to fall apart at the seams and the sauce to pool into the shell, saturating the filling. Cautiously he tastes it, and is amazed.

"Wow, this is great! Bet people would pay top dollar to come here." Both cooks bask in his praise, both of them are glad that it's not just 'good enough' for a couple of people trying to rough it.

"Save the shells," Scully advises, "so we can…oh, but we're leaving," she realizes with a frown. "Never mind." She puts her fork down and stares at her dish as though she's about to cry.

"You better finish," Skinner coaxes, "this close to your due date you need to keep up your strength. Even if you're not hungry, think of the baby at least."

"I know," she agrees, her voice shaky and weak. She takes a few deep breaths to steady herself, then another sob slips out. _Damn hormones, now Mulder will think I've turned into a sissy._


	15. Home

"I didn't mean to upset you, Scully," Mulder apologizes. "We can stay a while longer if you want. The boat will still be there tomorrow. I can totally understand if you need to take it slow.

"Finish that," Skinner repeats firmly, watching to make sure she does.

From her expression, it's clear that she's lost her appetite, that she's doing this only for the sake of her unborn child. After a few more bites she's done and she tosses her dish aside more carelessly than usual.

Her physical attitude moves Skinner into further action; he looks at her, empathizing with her pain and confusion. He strokes her hand between his, and they scoot their chairs closer together. She lays her head against his shoulder and he nuzzles her hair, "Dana," he whispers, just softly repeating her name over and over.

"This is it, isn't it?" she asks miserably. Catching herself, ashamed of how this sounded, she amends, "This is what we've been hoping for all this time. I d-don't want you to think I'm ungrateful, Mulder. I'm glad you came, so glad you came. I just…" she casts around, trying to think of a valid excuse. "I just really wanted to make stock with these," she nudges her plate of lobster shells across the deck.

"She makes really good stock," Skinner informs him matter-of-factly, still comforting his distraught wife.

Mulder kneels in front of her, "Are you okay? Really? Let's just forget about going anywhere for a while, okay? One step at a time. You two still haven't even given me the grand tour."

This idea seems to agree with her, Scully looks up at him and nods. Skinner helps her stand and they begin showing off their home. Going up one suspension bridge, Scully announces, "Up here we have our watch tower. To keep a lookout for ships and planes, or just to look at the stars at night."

"Wow," Mulder utters appreciatively. _'Bet that's not all they do up here,'_ he thinks, sharing a knowing look with Scully. They do a quick cruise through the watch tower before taking another path down to a different room.

"Here's the bathroom," Scully announces. They'd arranged a secondary runoff point for their water wheel, all it takes is to move the chutes around to flow into the main room and the bathroom. There's a bathtub made from more hull scrap, what had originally been their means of moving things from the plane to their house; a homemade bar of soap sits on the edge, made from rendered boar fat, ash, sand, and tropical flowers. The shower is made of driftwood, palm branches, and a bucket punched full of holes. A drain runs from the shower down to an opening under the window where it falls into their moat.

"So, where do you…uh, go?" Mulder has to know.

"Outhouse is downstairs," Skinner answers pointing to a tiny shack a little ways from the tree. "We tried to figure out how to make that work indoors, but it just wouldn't have been…sanitary."

"I'm with ya."

The tour continues up a level, into another tree. Time and again, Mulder is amazed by the amount of work they put into their home. Meanwhile, Skinner starts lagging behind, a sick feeling developing in his stomach as he watches his wife ascend the incline of the bridge. He's suddenly struck with how beautiful she is, how precious to him. He fingers his necklace, remembering his promise to protect her. _When we go back, she'll be in danger. And I'll be a bull's eye around her neck. We've both seen it happen, the people we love put in harm's way because of us. I can't let that happen to her. I have to end it. She'll hate me, but at least she and the baby will be safe. I don't want to do this…_ Trotting ahead to catch up, Skinner shows the next room, hoping no one noticed.

"We just finished this one a couple weeks ago," Skinner says, "It's…it was _going_ to be the nursery." All three of them look inside; they'd made a changing table and a crib, even a mobile from things they'd scavenged from the shore. Mulder can't help but notice the melancholy expressions on the parents-to-be. _'I don't blame them. Spending all this time making all these things, just to get swept back to DC at a moment's notice._

"This is amazing, all that you've done here," Mulder sincerely remarks, taking notice of every detail. Scully's cross pendant dangles on one of the spokes of the mobile. On a nearby shelf rest their IDs, positioned together; the somberness of their mug shots contradict their new function as a wedding photo. Then he hears a soft sob…Realizing that this moment has suddenly become very private, Mulder turns around slowly and creeps out.

Whether it's due to overactive hormones or all the excitement of the day, most likely it's both, Scully is crying openly now. The sound is slightly muffled by Skinner, who's trying his best to soothe her. He holds her tight, wishing he could cry with her, treasuring the last moments with her as his wife.

"We knew it would happen someday. Don't you want to go home?" She looks up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks, not answering with words but he appears to understand. "I know, I know. This couldn't last forever, though. It'll be good to be around people again, won't it? To have electricity? Not have to tie everything down before a storm and run to the emergency cave? You'll be happy to get home."

Scully seems to consider this, nodding, "As long as you're with me, I'll be home." She brings her hands up to his shoulders…

…and he, with noticeable effort, forces her hands back down. She stares at him, completely wrong-footed. Skinner sighs, giving her hand a pat before dropping that as well. He begins pacing, unable to look at her now. "Look, once we're back, we can't…I mean, it wouldn't be appropriate for us to…continue to see each other."

Her eyes go wide, flashing blue lightning, "See each other? I'm your wife!"

"Kind of," he bluntly corrects her.

"Kind of?" she shrieks with a humorless laugh. "Walter-"

"Agent Scully-" he begins, she looks as though he's slapped her in the face.

"_What_ did you call me?"

"—this isn't easy for me to do, but trust me, it's necessary. If it got out that we were romantically involved, people would talk."

"We've been missing for two years! I'm…I'm having your baby! I'm pretty sure 'they' can put two and two together." Scully sinks down into the rocking chair that he'd made for her, staring up at her husband with a desperate expression.

"There are ways of not…drawing attention to it."

"Drawing attention to it? To 'it'? Our child is an 'it'?"

"You're out of line, Scully," his old patter is coming back to him with practice, as long as he avoids looking at her.

Scully's breath becomes shaky, but she's determined not to cry again now that he's morphed back into the sometimes-detestable Assistant Director Skinner. She sets her jaw and stands back up without help, and walks past him as though he's not even there. She turns around, her face a mask of disappointment and loathing, and whispers sharply, "I'm your wife."

Mulder had heard raised voices from the main level, but isn't sure what started the fight. He sees Scully creeping cautiously down the slight decline of the suspension bridge.

"Let's get out of here. If I stay here another minute I'm going to be sick." Scully grabs her purse, throws a few things into it, and stalks out to wait for him on the boat.

A minute later, Skinner comes down, looking as though he'd aged ten years since he'd been upstairs.

"What was all that about?" Mulder asks, pointing down after Scully.

"We had to end it. It would've been unwise to…to…" Skinner's façade is cracking, his voice choked with unshed tears. "I had to. Gotta keep her safe."

Mulder shakes his head in disgust, "You bastard."

"Once we get back home, I'll arrange for my bank to send her a periodical stipend, as well as a trust fund for the baby. She'll be taken care of. You take care of her, like you always did," he commands, a note of defeat in his voice. "I've made sure she'll never want to talk to me again, with any luck she'll ask for a transfer or…maybe I'll get shunted elsewhere. Wouldn't be surprised." His attempt to 'talk business' is failing as he can't hold in his tears any longer. "God, she was my wife…"

Scully sits silently in the lifeboat as the men come down the beach. Skinner awkwardly hands Scully a largish box of her personal effects, giving her the feeling that her desk had been emptied out. She takes it wordlessly, not even looking at him. Mulder takes his seat at the front of the boat and begins rowing them to the larger vessel. Scully disembarks so fast you'd think the lifeboat was sinking. Once she's barricaded herself into a private section in the lower levels, Mulder and Skinner make one more trip out to make sure they don't forget anything. Skinner takes one last look through the house, already feeling empty and deserted. Two years…for two years this had been their home. He gives the record player an idle spin, not having the heart to dismantle it. He'd certainly never listen to that album again once they get back. He gathers strands of the seashell curtains, letting them slip through his fingers. He makes sure the fire is out and their water wheel is stopped.

"Anything you want to take back?" Mulder asks, hanging in the doorway.

Skinner's gaze falls on the most recent addition to the main room, the cradle he'd just finished making. "We'll take this. I'm not sure where it will end up, but...I want her to have it."

"How about the record, you taking this?" Mulder looks at the makeshift Victrola with some measure of amazement. Seeing no discernible label, he wonders aloud, "What is it, anyway?"

"ABBA Gold, I think," Skinner answers.

"That's all you've had to listen to? Wow, bet you hate it by now, right?"

"Surprisingly enough, we both actually like it," he confesses. "But let's just leave it. I can't…she wouldn't want it either. Too many memories."

"I understand."

The journey home is long and dull, Mulder attempts conversation with his 'rescued' friends, but the three of them make an unspoken point never to be all together at the same time. On the odd occasion where Scully and Skinner happen across each other, they ignore each other completely: Scully, out of righteous anger and a broken heart, Skinner, out of guilt and self-loathing. As the trip draws out, both former castaways become increasingly aware of the changing climate. They'd become accustomed to running around in practically nothing, now as they head north, the temperatures drop markedly. Luckily, they're not being brought back in winter, but it's soon quite a bit cooler than they are used to. Before setting out to look for them, in a fit of optimism Mulder packed a few sets of clothes in what he guessed would be their size, not paying much attention to style or personal taste. Both of them are grateful for the clothes, which are warm but restricting in an unfamiliar way. They each bundle deep into their coats at night, shivering as they long for each other's company and warmth. If Mulder had ever thought of keeping Scully company, that idea is banished completely, knowing what sort of a state she's in. Distraught over losing her husband so abruptly and unaware that he still loves her and is probably in as much pain as she is in, it would only confuse her more if he offered to comfort her. He holds onto a shred of hope that she and Skinner would work things out somehow.

He visit's Scully's room, sitting down on the bed next to her.

"So, have you thought of names?"

Scully nods, "We're thinking Mina if it's a girl. Walter and I both…" she trails off, putting a hand over her face. "I've been so sure it's a girl, I haven't even really thought of boy's names. I'm not…not now, especially."

Mulder picks up on what she left out, that she's refusing to consider naming the baby after the father if it's a boy.

Once they get back to the States, the process to have them legally brought back to life is begun. While she waits for the dust to settle, Scully moves back in with her mother, not questioning why her reinstatement into the Bureau had gone over so automatically, or why she received a notice informing her that her 'request' for maternity leave had gone through. Figuring this was a final gift from the man who had been her husband, she accepted it quietly. Her mother hadn't taken kindly to Skinner's sudden 'change in plans', as Scully worded it. When the three of them arrived back in DC, even before greeting her daughter, Margaret Scully stalked up to Skinner and nailed him with a right hook.

"Thanks, I deserve that," he remarked, bringing a hand to his jaw.

Unsurprisingly, when Skinner returns to the FBI, he finds his position has been filled in his absence. Considering that maybe this could be the opportunity he needs to retire, he agrees to accept a severe demotion just for the sake of getting back in with them. After their required period, and after his papers are in order to account for the time he was away, he will be allowed his pension. This realization makes him regret casting his wife aside so cruelly. Now it wouldn't make any difference. He can slip unnoticed into quiet retirement, giving him every right to his idea of the good life with his wife and child. His child…what miracle allowed his Dana to conceive? And he sent her away, with words so harsh he was certain she would never lay eyes on him again…

Skinner has taken to staying late, long after everyone else has gone home. He has no reason to hurry home, there isn't anyone waiting for him. On one such evening, his phone rings. "Missing Persons, Agent Skinner speaking."

"Wow, sounds like no good deed goes unpunished," Mulder remarks sardonically.

Pleased to hear a familiar voice on the other end, Skinner jumps right to business without preamble. "Mulder? What's going on? How…how is she?"

"I'll be blunt: she's barely eating or sleeping, she hasn't spoken a word since you guys got back a week ago. Her mom says she's been having nightmares, too."

"Oh, god…"

"Look, unless you want her to start making a set of those seashell curtains for you, you have to talk to her."

"She'll just hang up on me," Skinner is certain of this.

"It's a chance you have to take."

"Tell her…tell her I'm still wearing it. She'll know what I mean."

Mulder nods in understanding. Scully would take this message to mean 'I still love you.' "Yeah, sure will." He sets down the phone and takes Scully's hand as she stares listlessly into space, lying sprawled out on the couch. With his other hand he fingers her necklace.

"Tell me what this means." She shakes her head, hopelessness radiating off of her. "Scully, what does it mean?" he repeats firmly.

"It means…it _meant…_ we promised to 'provide, protect, and love'."

Mulder tells her, "That's why he did this, that's why he thought he had to end it. He's…he's trying to keep you safe. Away from him. He didn't want to do it. And he wants me to tell you that he still wears his, too."

Shock snaps Scully out of her catatonic state. She turns abruptly and faces him with wide, piercing eyes. Hope flickers in their depths once more. Suddenly she claps a hand to her abdomen with a sharp gasp.

Skinner hears him relay the message and sighs, frustrated to be so close to her yet so far. How would they ever reconcile? It seems so hopeless; so many things that can't simply be unsaid. Just as he's in the middle of brooding on his hard lot in life, he's brought back to the present by Mulder shouting—

"Time? Wha…where are you go-" there are sounds of running feet and a door slamming. "Hey! Hey, it's time! We're going, it's time!"

These words have the necessary affect on Skinner: he hangs up abruptly and springs into action. He pulls on his jacket and runs out. He's been to see his former agents in the hospital enough to know which one is hers. It takes him some time to wind his way through the parking ramp, even longer to find the way to the information desk.

"Maternity?" he pants, leaning heavily against the desk.

"Second floor. Who are you looking for?"

"Dana…Dana Scully."

The nurse types this into the computer and scrolls down. "I'm sorry, sir, there's no Dana Scully admitted here. Are you sure you're at the right hospital?"

"She's gotta be here. Look through the recent arrivals, just to be sure."

The nurse looks irritated, but does anyway just to humor him. "The only patient we've checked into maternity is listed as Dana Skinner."

_Dana Skinner…she's kept my last name, after all I did to her. Might she still be wearing it, too? _"That's her! I didn't think she'd…"

Nodding, understanding his mistake, the nurse pulls up her information, "It shows here that Scully is her maiden name, you're right. She's in room 223."

"Thank you," he gasps, taking off at a full gallop.

"Sir! Sir, you can't go in yet!" When he ignores her, she hits the button for security.

He gets to the elevator before anyone can stop him, but the guards are ahead of him, waiting for him as he tries to enter the delivery room. Mulder, Scully, and her mother hear a scuffle outside the doors.

"You have to let me in there! That's my wife! She's my wife!"

"Walter…" Scully sighs, bracing herself for another contraction. She turns to the doctor and points at the door, "Doctor, please, that's my husband out there."

"It's all right, let him in," the doctor orders. The security team unhands Skinner and he stumbles into the room, stopping at her bed. She's wearing nothing but a hospital gown…and her wedding necklace.

"Dana…I'm so sorry. I'm here…and I'm not leaving. If you'll have me."

She fixes him with an intense gaze, "Never, _ever_ do that again!" He bends over her and kisses her, stopping only when she pushes him off abruptly. "Walter, we need a priest!"

He runs his fingers over her necklace, fingering the fangs that bind their promise to provide and protect, and takes his out as well. She smiles up at him in exhausted relief.

"Right, a priest. Doctor, is there a priest in the house? And a notary public?"

"Oh! Hang on, I'll find out." The doctor looks at the couple in surprise. As he's making calls for these necessary people, Skinner and Mrs. Scully look at each other. She isn't as quick to forgive him as her daughter is, having spent the past week watching Dana languish before her very eyes, poisoned by her despair.

"I'm so sorry," he tells her, "it wasn't easy for me, either, you know. I didn't want to do it, I thought I was keeping her safe."

Still watching him warily, Margaret regards him with a scowl.

In a few minutes, Scully is laboring in earnest, and the people necessary to make them "official" have arrived.

"…and do you, Dana, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband-"

"Yes, yes, I do!" she gasps, straining and squeezing Skinner's hand. Mulder is at her other side, mopping her forehead. Their forms are filled, stamped and sealed and they are man and wife.

The doctor peeks up, "I can see the head, one more good push."

Screaming through the effort, Scully pushes as hard as she can, and soon her sobs are joined with the cries of the baby that she'd just brought into the world.

"Congratulations, it's a girl." He informs the new parents. The baby is whisked away to get cleaned up and swaddled, and is soon brought back to her mother.

"Hi…hi, baby," she whispers, laughing through the natural high of euphoria. Skinner leans over, stroking his daughter's head which is crowned with soft coppery peach fuzz. Mr. and Mrs. Skinner kiss, the look of utter devotion shared between them is enough to convince the newly made grandmother that everything is all right. Now Mulder is leaning over the bed, wanting a look at the baby. It's too soon to tell who she takes after.

"Congratulations, you guys. She's beautiful. Get some rest, I'll call you tomorrow," he tells Scully, kissing her cheek and leaving them alone.

Margaret then saunters over to them to see her grandchild. She has to agree with Mulder, the tiny newborn looks absolutely perfect. She's still fussing from the trauma of being born, but is quickly calming down now that she's comfortably warm and secure again.

"Well, welcome to the family…both of you," she says, speaking to both the baby and her new son-in-law.

XXX

As soon as Scully is fit to leave the hospital, Skinner makes arrangements to move her into his place. Luckily, when they had been declared lost, Margaret had come to claim her daughter's possessions. Skinner, on the other hand, found many of his things down in the evidence locker. He suspects Mulder had something to do with that. For the first week after their return, he lived in temporary housing, usually meant for immigrants and refugees. Then he was able to find something more suitable as a bachelor pad. Now, after the ordeal of getting Scully moved in with him, he realizes they're going to have to move again soon to something larger still.

Scully is there when he gets home from work, feeding Mina and greeting him with a smile that suggests she has news.

"Anything in the mail?"

"Mulder sent us something," she answers cryptically, handing him a long envelope. She'd already opened it and is now waiting for his reaction.

Skinner reads:

To Mr. and Mrs. Skinner,

Just something to help you celebrate getting made legit. I think you'll get a kick out of it.

-Mulder

Unfolding the note all the way made two more slips of paper flutter to the ground. "Play tickets. 'Mamma Mia', what's this?"

Scully shrugs, "Never heard of it, but it's in town this week and Mulder seems to want us to go. Mom said she'd baby-sit and everything."

"Looks like I have no room to argue. It's a date."

XXX

One month later, they're now living in a small apartment of their own; both of them had gotten a laugh out of its advertisement: "Great for newlyweds". They seem to have everything they need, and yet…

"Walter, I've been thinking…" Words, however, fail her as she walks into the bedroom to find her husband folding laundry on the floor with the baby, with a pair of her underwear on his head! Scully giggles at this sight, bringing his attention to her. "I think Mina likes your fashion statement. Yeah, Daddy's silly, isn't he?" she says in a playful voice, tickling her daughter's tummy. Mina rolls on her back with a squeal, making her parents laugh along with her.

Skinner takes the panties off his head, tossing them aside, "What were you thinking of?" He watches her expression, as she tries to form her thoughts into words. Somehow he guesses her mind, "You're homesick, aren't you?" Silently, she nods. "I am, too. I miss our house, the warm weather, our toucans, everything." She leans into him, getting a comforting hug. "Let's go."

She looks up, shocked at his suggestion. "You mean it?"

"We'll pack a few things so we're better prepared. Mulder can take us out, he's the only one who knows where our island is."

"We can get an extended phone service, internet connection, some solar panels, so we're not completely cut off. Mainly for my mom's and Mulder's sake."

"Sure, sure. We can even arrange for a yearly supply ship or something, for clothes and stuff that we can't make. Maybe even our own boat, so we're not marooned, just on extended vacation."

"That would be nice, I'd like that," Scully agrees with a smile. "You're serious. We're going home."

"We're going home."


End file.
